Mistaken Perception
by ohcEEcho
Summary: Sequel to 'Ironic Synchronicity'. When the land of Narnia falls beneath a gathering shadow, will the Monarchs of the Golden Age rise once more? And if so, for what? Victory, or defeat?
1. Prologue

**A/N: This is more a preview than the actual beginning of the process. I have a few chapters in progress, but they shouldn't be up for a while. Meanwhile, I figured you all deserved the first instalment, just as a taster. Next chapter should be up in about a week...maybe...**

**IMPORTANT: If you would rather I took this off and waited until I could update regularly, tell me. If not, well...read on.**

**Well, here we are once again. If you are a newcomer, and have not yet read 'Ironic Synchronicity', I would strongly advise it. This is a sequel, and there will be aspects which cannot be understood unless the previous instalment has been read.**

**This first part of 'Mistaken Perception' will be written solely in the real world (not in Narnia). The second half, however, shall be in Narnia. I have absolutely no idea how long it will be…we shall just have to wait and see.**

**As for updating speed, once I've got a few chapters ahead; I feel an approximate of one every two days will allow me to breath easier than one a day. Apologies, but I just don't think I would be able to keep up!**

**Disclaimer: Narnia belongs solely to CS Lewis, and I sincerely hope he will not mind me borrowing his characters for a slight variation (cough cough) on his story. **

**Warnings: Nothing really. As ever, a little blood spilt.**

**Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.**

**Full (extremely long) summary: It's been a year since the Pevensie children returned from their adventures during the evacuation. Edmund passed the scholarship exams for St Lewis Institution of Creative Arts, and has since spent a term with his brother at the boarding school. Now Lucy, too, has gained a scholarship at Susan's school: Warden Grammar School for Girls. **

**None of the children have forgotten Narnia, and back in the realm they once ruled over, evil rises once again. As the hours of darkness lengthen and cast a sinister shadow over the dying land, will the legendary kings of queens of the golden days rise again, and lead their country to salvation once more?**

_Mistaken Perception_

_Part One: Late Arrivals_

_**Prologue:**_

_August 25th, 1929, Wickerton Railway Line. _

"Daddy, wait! I can' reach the bramble berry…"

Henry Pevensie turned from his perusal of the dying afternoon sun, and smiled as he watched his four year old son stand awkwardly on tiptoe, tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth in concentration as he desperately reached upwards.

It was that warm, lazy time of day. The lull in the afternoon just before the sun set, when all the world seemed to be slipping drowsily into sleep.

Peter Pevensie made a wild grab for the luscious, beady black berry which he had set his heart upon, mouth watering with the thought of the sweet juice brimming below its surface.

He let out a yelp of surprise as he overbalanced, and his sky blue eyes widened in fear as he toppled over the metal railway track and to the gravel strewn path. He frowned determinedly as he made to get up, starting in surprise as two strong arms bodily lifted him from the ground.

"No, Dadda, I wanna do it by my owns…"

Henry smiled fondly as the child wiggled and struggled in his arms, twisting around to scowl petulantly at the offending berry. He laughed lightly, and settled his son comfortably on his hip as he moved closer to the bush.

"Don't you mean 'by yourself', Peter?"

He asked, softly. Strange as it sounded, he felt as though they had to be hushed in order to not disturb the quiet. A childish fantasy, perhaps, but not any the less real to him.

The child pouted, turning round blue eyes on his father, a curtain of thatched golden hair tossing about his head as a lazy autumn breeze picked up. Henry chuckled at his son's frown, and lightly flicked Peter's nose with his forefinger.

The boy squealed and squirmed in his arms, but Henry could see the tiny smile growing across Peter's face.

"Please? Jus' this las' one! Then go home?"

Henry Pevensie pretended to hesitate, and dithered as Peter watched his expression with eager anticipation. Henry suddenly grinned, and bounced the giggling child up and down on his hip as he stepped neatly over the rails to stand right beside the bush.

"Oh, go on then. But just this once…and don't tell your Mother."

Peter clapped his hands in ecstasy, his round face lighting up.

"No, I promise! Me no tell Momma."

Not bothering to correct his son's grammatical error on the basis that he was, after all, only four, Henry shifted the child around so that he held him under the armpits and hoisted him upwards. Peter reached out eagerly, gently clasped the berry between his chubby hands, and pulled.

Henry turned back to face the setting sun over the corn fields, smiling as Peter quickly devoured his prize with many small exclamations of 'mmmmm, yummy!' and the like.

There was a peaceful silence, as Henry watched the dancing shadows cast by the rays of the oncoming night, smiling as Peter yawned widely before resting his head against his father's shoulder.

"Daddy?"

Came the sleepy inquiry, just as Henry thought his son had drifted off. Peter never stayed awake for the return journey along the track to the station, always too stuffed full of blackberries in Autumn, too cold in Winter, too hot in Summer and…well, usually too ill in Spring.

Peter always suffered horrendous colds in Spring.

"Yes, Peter?"

A small, pink hand rose in front of Henry's vision, sticky with berry juice. There was a pause, as Henry frowned, confused.

"I prick'ed myself by a thorn."

Henry reached up his free hand to inspect the finger, noting that there was a trail of crimson mixed in with the black. He sighed, gently probing the digit until he found the tiny incision where the thorn had entered.

It wasn't deep, but was obviously painful. Most children Peter's age would be griping and growing teary eyed as it stung, but not Peter. Henry had always wondered at his son's resilience to that sort of thing.

"Oh, dear…well then, Daddy will kiss it better."

"Daaaaaaaddy!"

Came the whine, and Peter made a muffled sound of protest as the finger was subjected to such 'abuse', then gently wiped with a handkerchief. The child closed one eye and peered at the now clean, unmarked digit in scrutiny.

The sun had set now; smudged yellow and red clouds forming pink hues in the wide blue bowl of the sky above them. Henry settled his son against his chest before turning away, walking at a slow pace back down the railway line, carefully skirting the brambles beside the fence, mindful of the perilous thorns.

The next day, he would be leaving to join the armed forces for the conventional national service.

------------------------------------------------------------------

_August 30th, 1940, Wickerton Railway Line._

"Peter, wait up! My shoelace…"

Peter Pevensie turned carefully, perilously balanced upon the rusty railway track. He hefted the large brown paper parcel more securely under his arm, watching his younger brother hastily fumble with his laces.

He raised his head, staring out across the empty, leaf strewn fields to see the sun slipping further and further down in the west. He sighed, and slipped off the rails to the gravel path with a sigh.

"Hurry it up, Ed. Not long till dusk now…"

Edmund gave the knot one last experimental tug, and, seemingly satisfied clambered wearily to his feet. He adjusted the strap of his gas mask with a frown, noting that the cardboard box was practically falling apart.

"Do we have to take these to…school?"

Peter smiled as Edmund's eyes became unfocused, and he bit his lip as he always did when he was worried. Edmund had, that very morning, received a letter bearing the news that he had been accepted into 'St Lewis Institution of Creative Arts', Peter's school.

It hadn't been so much a pleasant surprise, as a saving grace. Funds were low, and they couldn't afford the fee for boarding school. Edmund had tried for the scholarship, which granted him free access into the school. It had been a close run-thing. Had he failed, he would have received only local schooling from what was left of the county facilities.

But, more importantly to Edmund, he would have been away from Peter.

And that had driven him to study solidly for many months, meticulously striving to complete the scholarship exam. Apparently, it had paid off. However, it made the experience no less daunting.

Edmund felt a consoling arm slip around his shoulder, and he glanced up into the warm depths of his brother's smiling eyes.

"Don't worry, Ed. I'll be there whenever you need me."

Edmund frowned, gathering his own brown parcel to his chest while muttering under his breath:

"I wasn't _worried…_just…apprehensive."

Peter rolled his eyes and ruffled his brother's hair, taking his arm and leading him down the gravel edge of the track. Brambles had spiralled out of control, strewn across the disused track in wild disarray.

Peter no longer needed aid to reach the highest branches, he mused, as he plucked a ripe berry from a dangling branch. He frowned, troubled. The war had grown more vicious recently, raids getting earlier and earlier as the enemy grew bolder. If they were caught out here…

He pursed his lips, tightening his grip on his brother and hauling him faster down the track. Edmund protested, but quickened his own pace to match his brother's obligingly.

"I thought you said this was a shortcut! Doesn't seem like it, if you ask me."

They had nearly reached the junction which led up to the bridge now. Peter smiled, recalling a time when he had sat upon his father's shoulders and shrieked as the trains rounded the corner, waving enthusiastically when it whistled.

His face fell.

The only whistling nowadays was that of the wailing air raid sirens; and sometimes, they were too late, and the first warning you got was when something exploded. Peter glanced nervously up at the sky, hauling Edmund over the stile and hurrying up the uneven paving of the road.

"You think we'll make it? Before dark, I mean."

Edmund asked quietly as they rounded the corner, passing the post office and the local grocers. He winced as the coarse string of the parcel cut into his palm. Who would have thought that rations and coupons would ever weigh so much?

"Not sure; if we hurry."

Edmund sighed; Peter was in 'efficiency mode' now. That meant he focused only on the priorities necessary to achieve their goal. It had been necessary in Narnia, but here…in the suburbs of London, it seemed less noble and more paranoid.

Then again, it was difficult to remain 'magnificent' when you were nothing more than an adolescent in the middle of a war. Or just, for that matter.

Peter's hand tightened around his forearm as they reached the end of their road, the entire town submerged in eerie silence as the clock tower struck five. Edmund glanced up to the sky as Peter determinedly led them onwards.

"Come on, Ed."

The front gate was wrenched open, and they scurried up the garden path, skirting around debris and bricks from the previous night's raid. Halfway up the road an elderly couple had perished in the tyranny of an incendiary bomb, just last week.

Peter rapped abruptly on the front door, glancing up at the small stained glass window in the top, now taped over with brown lines to prevent it from shattering in a blast. Edmund's eyes scanned the sky and listened intently.

The door swung open; to reveal a pouting Lucy, hand on hip and glaring up at them in an uncanny resemblance to her mother. Peter and Edmund had the courtesy to look sheepish, Edmund shuffling self consciously behind his brother.

"And just where have you two been? Mummy's worried."

They breathed a sigh of relief as she gave them a reproving look, but stepped aside nonetheless. A couple of weeks ago, she had forced them to scramble through a downstairs window because they had arrived too late.

And for some reason, Susan had found it hilariously amusing, much to the boy's indignant affront.

As the door slammed shut, all three of them stood for a moment in the hall, staring at the closed kitchen door with nervous apprehension.

The scholarship letter was not the only news which had come today.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Helen Pevensie felt as though her heart had been ripped to shreds. Torn in two, so wearied with sorrow that she could barely draw breath for the leaden weight of it.

She could pretend no longer.

She could not continue to watch her youngest run to the window to stare down the garden path every morning; couldn't bear to watch her eldest shudder every time he saw the picture upon the mantelpiece.

Peter _knew._

She could feel it, see it in his face; the same haunted, weary resignation in Henry's blue eyes stared her in the eye every day, accusing, hurting.

Had she truly dreamed, when the angel who resembled Peter so had come to her? He had seemed so _real._

But it mattered little.

What mattered…was that she was about to tell her children, her babies, that they no longer had a father. That Henry…was dead.

Dead.

The door creaked open, and Lucy's head peeped around it. Helen smiled tiredly, kneading her brow with shaking hands as Lucy entered, standing awkwardly in the doorway.

"Peter and Ed are back, Mum. You…do you want me to get Susan, now?"

She nodded briefly, dropping her gaze to the stained, faded surface of the table. Lucy's eyes filled with concern, but she reluctantly left, passing her brother's with shared worried glances as her son's approached her.

Peter hesitated, then hurried over to his mother's side, as Helen clutched the small slip of paper in her hand convulsively. His eyes held a fear which was not born of mere uncertainty.

He knew.

Oh yes, he knew.

"Mum?"

He asked, voice on edge. Edmund hovered at his shoulder, a concerned frown set in his freckled face. Helen tore her gaze away, Henry's eyes staring starkly at her from her son's face.

She shuddered.

Peter flinched, and drew away, hurt now shining in those eyes. Helen just managed to refrain from breaking, then. She could hardly bear to even look at her eldest.

The cruelty of fate, at its peak.

"Wait a while, boys. Edmund, would you get us all some tea?"

Peter went to help his brother, but Edmund placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. They shared a look, and Helen vaguely marvelled at the wealth of communication in that single glance between them.

Peter relented, and sat in the chair farthest from his mother.

For a few minutes, the only sounds which filled the kitchen were the soft mechanical workings of the clock on the wall, and the resounding chink's of china and metal as Edmund hastily made the tea.

Then, there were the sounds of two footfalls on the stairs. Peter sat up stiffly, and Helen's hands clenched so hard the knuckles turned white. She drew a deep breath, reinforcing her resolve.

She had to be strong. For her children, if not for Henry.

Susan and Lucy entered, Susan appearing troubled, Lucy nervous. Edmund handed each a scalding cup of tea, then hurried over to hand one to his mother, then Peter. He frowned slightly as the two spare seats were occupied by his sister's, then shrugged, jumping up onto the kitchen counter as close to his brother as he could be.

Helen managed a smile.

"So, boys. Did you get the parcels?"

Peter nodded silently, retrieving them from beneath the table and handing them to her in turn. She flipped over the label with trembling fingers, and her heart sank as she saw it was addressed thus:

_Mr P. Pevensie_

_36 Harlock Avenue_

_Finchley_

_London_

_Return address:_

_7 Cambridge Road_

_East London_

_National Records Office_

Just as she had feared; Henry still strived to protect her, even in death. But to give such a task to _Peter?_ He was a child; a boy. He was not ready for such responsibility.

She drew a deep breath and smiled at Edmund shakily, determined to avoid her eldest's accusing gaze.

"Thank you, dear. Peter, this is for you. But…wait a while. Don't open it yet."

She slid the package once more to the floor, and turned to the second, slightly larger one. This, unlike the other, was of an indistinct shape. She frowned, and studied the printed lettering stamped across it.

**Mr E Pevensie**

**36 Harlock Avenue **

**Finchley**

**London**

**If lost, kindly return to:**

**St Lewis Boarding School**

**Shropshire**

Helen forced an encouraging smile as she slid the package across to Edmund, who took it with a frown and hastily ripped it open. A neatly stacked pile of clothing spilled out across the table, including a dark red school blazer emblazoned with the St Lewis insignia.

Helen felt a sharp stab of pain mixed with joy as Edmund turned eagerly to his brother, who clapped him on the shoulder and smiled proudly. It seemed his school uniform had arrived. Oh, if only Henry could see this…

But Edmund no longer had a father to be proud of him.

Only an older brother, forced to grow beyond his years, and a weakening mother, finally buckling under the pressures of harsh reality.

Susan held up each garment in turn, studying the design and commenting on how it was probably a little large, but Edmund would likely grow into them within a few months. Helen's heart gave another sharp jolt, as Lucy congratulated her brother for the fifth time that day.

Helen cleared her throat, and all three looked up. Helen swallowed thickly, steeled her resolve and spoke as steadily as she could.

"Children…sit down, please."

They all froze, and Susan sat back down on the kitchen chair beside her mother, Lucy settling comfortably on her lap as Susan wrapped her arms around her. Edmund clasped the back of the last remaining kitchen chair, hesitated, and then shifted it closer to Peter before sitting.

Helen felt a numb, cold chill settle across her chest as she slowly moved the slip of paper away from her lap and held it up.

"This…came this morning."

There was a small silence. Nobody moved, and it seemed the world had frozen, not even daring to take a breath.

"What is it, Mummy? Who is it from?"

Helen felt a bitter resentment half heartedly spread throughout her mind, and her voice broke as she spoke.

"The armed forces."

Still nothing; not a sound, not a single intake of air. Lucy tremulously broke the silence once more as the ominous rattling of china indicated that somebody's hands had begun to shake.

"What did it say?"

Helen did not answer, her eyes closed, her head only supported by her hand as she leant on the table.

"Mummy?"

Helen couldn't do it. She slowly opened her eyes, seeing the growing horror and panic filling each of her children's eyes with unbearable pain.

"No…it's not. Tell me…"

Susan choked out, and then there was the crash and shatter of china as her cup fell to the floor. Nobody flinched, nor even blinked. Edmund stood, slowly, and stumbled over to clutch the back of Peter's chair with white knuckled fists.

"I'm so sorry, my darlings…"

Lucy wriggled frenziedly out of her sister's arms and reached for her mother's hands, willing Helen to look at her. Helen did so, her eyes stinging and her throat sore.

"Mummy? Mummy, please…"

But Helen turned away, as tears welled over in her youngest child's eyes. Lucy folded her arms around her stomach and her face contorted into an utterly wretched mask of agony.

She began to sob.

"Mother, may I have a moment?"

Susan choked out, her voice clipped and fluctuating violently. Helen did not answer, merely let her head fall further into her aching palm. She couldn't do this. She couldn't.

The chair fell to the floor with a crash as Susan tore out of the room, her harsh breaths fading as she scrambled up the stairs, gasping as she tripped and fell. Nobody moved as she curled against the banister and lapsed into quiet cries of sorrow.

Lucy took one look at her mother's slumped figure, before she let out a strangled cry and ran from the room, the door swinging and slamming behind her.

Silence.

There was the scraping of wood on tiles as Peter slid out of his chair to the floor, gathering the shards of broken china together in a pile before freezing as the sharp edge cut into his palm.

Helen watched as the eyes of her dead husband glazed over with tears.

"It can't…are…they…could they be wrong?"

Helen shook her head, a deranged smile twisting her features.

"No, Peter. No mistake. They sent what's left home in a box, as they had no remains to return."

She laughed bitterly, before she fell from her chair, hunching over herself against the wall. She had broken, her heart failing to rekindle the light of hope within her.

He was not the only who had died when his heart had stopped beating.

For she had died with him.

------------------------------------------------------------------

"No…I…can't…I won't! Their lying, they…"

Peter pushed the hair from his own brow as he abandoned the scattered to china to meet his brother's pleading gaze. Edmund was looking to him, searching his brother's eyes for some tiny flicker of hope.

Peter lowered his gaze, and shook his head.

He felt as though he had lost his father twice; yet another shard of his soul withering and dying as he saw the despairing defeat in his little brother's eyes.

Edmund simply stared at him, shaking violently.

He reached out like a child, and Peter could do nothing but wrap his arms around him and silentlystand as Edmund tried desperately to hold himself together.

After a few minutes, Edmund stilled, and he weakly turned into Peter's chest, the very bones of his body giving one last shiver. Peter could only smile bitterlyas Edmund slammed a fist into his brother's chest, sinking to the floor, pullingPeter down with him.

"You're not Dad…you're not…"

Edmund's voice broke off as he buried his head violently in his brother's shoulder, gripping Peter's back with a painful clench. Peter enfolded his brother close to him, wishing with all his heart that he could bear the pain for him.

"I know, Ed. I know I'm not."

He whispered, soft but hoarse, worn by the simple truth…that he was now, truly, on his own.

It hadn't seemed real, until now.

There would be no more consoling hugs; no more protective arms to sweep him up, no more drowsy kisses upon his cheek as he drifted into sleep.

He had so little to give, and so much to provide for.

"And…I…I'm sorry…"

Edmund couldn't hear him; and Peter was glad.

From now on…he must bear the weight alone.

"I'm so sorry…"

Neither recalled slipping past their sister's restlessly sleeping forms on the stairs; nor falling to Peter's bed, nor the far off rumblings of approaching aircraft.

All Peter knew, was that finally, through hour after hour of trembling and wallowing in an agony not his own, Edmund had finally been rocked to an uneasy sleep.

And only then did Peter allow himself to cry.

------------------------------------------------------------------

**I know, I know. I'm evil. Next instalment probably won't be up for a week or so…maybe more…like I said, I want to get a head start on this one.**

**A/N: Yes, I know Helen received the letter concerning their father's death weeks ago. She just only gathered the courage to tell them now, and decided it was easier to pretend it arrived that day.**

**I just thought I should pop this reference section in, to avoid confusion later on. I apologise if I got any of the history incorrect…**

**The war: World war two lasted a total of six years, from 1939 to 1945. Judging by the beginning of the movie, in which the Blitz involves aircraft bombers, we can deduce that the movie is set at the beginning of the war.**

**During the Blitz (the name given to the air raids, coming from the German world 'Blitzkrieg' or 'lightning war') children were evacuated approximately three times, depending on their parents wishes. Some even remained in the country for the rest of their lives.**

**The children's ages: I guess that Peter was about fourteen when the Blitz began, Susan thirteen, Edmund twelve and Lucy ten. Of course, Peter and Edmund could be seen as two or three years apart depending on the time of year. Unfortunately…**

**This means that, by the end of the war, Peter would be twenty and Edmund seventeen or eighteen. As we know, this would mean they could well have been enlisted into the army towards the end of the war…**

**Oh dear.**

**The children's birthdays: For the sake of convenience, I have decided to give the children birthdays, as CS Lewis never bothered. So, here they are:**

**Peter: April 14th, 1925. The calm period between the end of spring and the beginning of summer (I thought this reflected his nature quite well).**

**Susan: November 3rd, 1926. The borderline of the oncoming winter, also suitable for her character.**

**Edmund: October 21st, 1927. Mid-autumn (fall to American's) somehow, the concept of falling leaves seems appropriate.**

**Lucy: July 16th, 1929. Summer, of course, in accordance with her personality. **

**Phew, sorry about that…just needed to make it clear before we began. This story is set in Autumn 1940, the approximate time of the second evacuation. Of course, this time, the school terms are about to begin…**

**Anyhow, please review and let me know what you think!**


	2. Many Letters

**A/N: So, here we are again! I know, I said the next one wouldn't be up for a while, but I couldn't just leave it! Let's just say that the updates may be erratic, to keep you all on your toes…**

**Or because I'm lazy and disorganised, but we won't mention that.**

**Disclaimer: Narnia belongs solely to CS Lewis, and I sincerely hope he will not mind me borrowing his characters for a slight variation (cough cough) on his story. **

**Warnings: Nothing really. As ever, a little blood spilt.**

**Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.**

**Oh yeah, just one last point; I recently watched 'Shadowlands', a drama about CS Lewis' life and how he met his American wife, and her son. It's very good, and I highly recommend it. A certain scene inspired me for a development in my own story, so you may just get a hint if you go watch it…which I doubt.**

**Nobody ever listens to me…(sighs)**

Mistaken Perception

Part One: Late Arrivals

**_Chapter one: Many Letters_**

Peter's hands were shaking so hard, he could barely fit his fingers around the knot in the string.

His cheeks felt sore, and swollen. His entire body ached with a weary exhaustion which had nothing to do with his physical well being. His mind was overrun with a thousand thoughts, his heart shuddering under a barrage of emotions.

The army had sent over his father's 'personal effects' this morning. They were otherwise known as 'all that was left'.

They had been addressed to him. Not his mother. But _him. _

His fingers slipped, but the knot loosened, nevertheless. He pinched the bridge of his nose and drew in a deep, shaky breath as he reached for the edge of the stiff, brown outer layer of wrapping.

There was a heavy silence, broken only by the soft rustle as the paper slid to the floor.

Peter stared down at the small, plain box which now sat before him. It was stamped with the insignia of the realm, the royal coat of arms. The address, to him, was scrawled across a corner.

He reached for the edge of the lid, hesitated, then pulled it away with perhaps more force than was necessary. It fell to the floor with a clatter, and Peter froze, listening intently.

Not a sound disturbed the quiet of the morning. Apparently, everyone besides him was still in bed. Not peacefully, unfortunately. But asleep.

Peter frowned as he inspected the contents of the box. A book. Diary, he supposed. A small package of the letters they had all sent him, tied with frayed ribbon. A wrist watch. A small penny, the first payment for joining the armed forces. A locket, burst open, revealing a picture of their mother.

Peter swallowed dryly and inspected each in turn. The diary, however, he left untouched. Perhaps, when he felt less ill at ease, he would read it one day. But for now…it seemed…indecent.

Too soon.

He was just about to shut the lid, when something caught his eye. Beneath the diary was the smudged, yellowed corner of a slip of paper. He frowned, and tugged it carefully, retrieving a thick, faded envelope.

It was addressed, just as the package had been, to him.

He recognised his father's sloped script, and felt an uneasy shudder run along the length of his spine. Fingers trembling slightly, he slit the envelope open, and allowed the contents to spill across the bed.

Five letters; folded, and addressed to each member of the family.

Peter froze, before slowly reaching for the one which bore his own name, pausing before unfolding it and slumping against the wall as he read:

_Peter,_

_I know that if you are reading this, I am far beyond telling you any of this in person. I truly don't know what to say. It must be disconcerting for you, and I am so, so sorry that I must burden you with this._

_The items within this box are meagre, but I hope they will bring you all some comfort. I ask you to give the locket to your mother, and the watch to Edmund (I promised it to him, many years ago) and the penny to Lucy. The letters you may return to their owners, and the diary; do with it as you wish._

_I have also enclosed within this envelope a small token for you; I have no doubt you know what it means. But please, finish this letter before you look._

_I wonder how old you are, now? Is the war over, or is it still going on? It feels to me as if it will never end. Oh, I have so many questions I wish to ask, so many things left unsaid…I am at a loss as to where to begin._

_I suppose, first and foremost, all I can say is that I'm sorry. Sorry I failed you, all of you, sorry I never could convey how much I truly loved you all. This letter shall hopefully be delivered a few weeks in the aftermath of my death, if I am fortunate enough to be recovered._

_No doubt your mother shall be angry at me; it is only to be expected. Are you angry with me, too? I am sorry. It is the last thing I ever wanted, to cause any of you any pain. But know this, Peter. It is your responsibility to watch over them now._

_I shall always be watching, but alas, shall be unable to do anything. I know you are probably not ready, and doubt that you are capable. But don't underestimate yourself, son. God knows, I've discovered I had a million unknown qualities when faced with the horrors here._

_Lucy will no longer have a father to kiss her hurts better, nor will your mother have a husband to depend on. It breaks my heart to place this weight upon you, but I feel I have no choice._

_If there was any other way, believe me, Peter, I would have found it._

_I have asked so much of you already; but I must beg of you, bear this one last burden. Please, look after them, give them all that you can afford to part with. But most importantly, know that I love you all and shall never stop loving you; not till the judgement day and beyond._

_Be there; be there when I cannot._

_And we'll meet again, Peter; I swear it._

_Your loving Father,_

_Henry J. Pevensie_

_God Bless you, my son._

Peter leant over the envelope, and reached over, turning it upside down.

He stared as the promised token fell from the paper to his bed.

Peter's hands fell into his lap, clenching the thin paper so hard it crumpled and ripped beneath his grip. His eyes slipped shut and his head fell back against the hard wall with a resounding slam.

He was now, truly, utterly alone.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Two days later: Llangollen village, Wales. The stately residence of Mr D. Kirke._

Digory Kirke hummed tunefully, as he idly buttered a thin slice of toast, only half listening to the warbled drone of the wireless upon the windowsill. It was a beautiful autumn morning, clear skies, and the sun shining brightly in the east.

He flipped open the morning paper, and laid it flat on the table, reaching for his now buttered toast as he did so. He frowned, eying the latest reports of damage on the front page, which was headlined:

**RAID DAMAGE CRITICAL**

**The continuing Air raids upon London have taken their toll. It is estimated the death rate has reached over six thousand, and is steadily rising with every new attack. Recent reports of a new type of war machine known as 'the Spitfire' have been sighted in downtown London, gunning down civilians in the streets.**

**Meanwhile, unaccountable damage has been done to the entirety of the capital's actual structure. It is rumoured that thousands of people have lost their homes, and-**

The Professor looked up as the door creaked open, and Mrs Macready entered, bearing the morning post and a large umbrella. The Professor glanced outside, noting the gathering of dark clouds in the sky.

"Ah, thank you, Mabel my dear. The usual, I presume?"

"Yes, Sir. A few letters and one telegram for you."

He sighed but smiled gently as his housewife laid the pile of letters upon the table, nodded curtly and strode from the room.

As the door slammed shut he winced, then turned to the pile, drawing it towards him as he swallowed the last of his breakfast and reached for his tea. He frowned, moving the first three to one side (as they were all bills of some description) and eying a postcard from a distant relative, a telegram from his doctor and a singe letter.

Adding the telegram and the postcard to the pile, he flipped the rather thick and heavy envelope over and read the return address in neat, if rather hurried script:

_To: Professor D. Kirke_

_Tarrington Hall_

_Llangollen Village_

_Wales_

_Return:_

_36 Harlock Avenue_

_Finchley_

_London_

The Professor grew concerned as he recognised the address of the four Pevensie children, who had spent a summer here at his house. They had been recalled soon after as the Blitz had improved, but he had heard rumours that a second evacuation order was in progress.

He cleared his throat, opened the letter and read:

_Professor,_

_I am terribly sorry to trouble you at a time like this. If you would care to recall, I am the eldest child who you allowed to stay at your house during the previous evacuation. I am writing to inform you, although the authorities probably already have done so, that not all of us shall be returning to your dwelling on the event of a second evacuation order._

_You may not be aware, but we are mere days away from the beginning of the autumn school term, and my brother, myself and my eldest sister shall all be attending boarding school within the countryside, far away from London. _

_However, it is likely that in the event of school holidays, we will be required to once again intrude upon your gracious services. But I write in concern of a more serious matter; and if you feel any of the following requests unreasonable, please do not hesitate to refuse._

_You see, my youngest sister shall likely be evacuated to some other form of temporary residence. She is only young, and has grown very fond of both you and the house you live in. I would be so very grateful if you could agree to allow her to stay at your own house for as long as you deem necessary._

_Alas, this is not the only request I am forced to convey. Three days ago, we received news of my father's death at the front. My mother is distraught, and during the raids of the recent evenings has refused to leave the house even when in imminent danger. She simply sits in a chair by the fire all day, gazing down upon our father's picture._

_I fear for her; there is no one but me who can protect us, all of us, and I am only a young man myself. We have tried everything to dissuade her, but she is completely withdrawn. I consulted a doctor, and he believes she is in a severe mental decline brought on by shock and grievance._

_As you can imagine, this does no good for her physical well being either. I fear that if she were to be left behind alone, she would not last the week out. I therefore must humbly request that you allow her to accompany my sister to your house, and stay there until her health improves._

_I feel some time away from the horror of war in your quiet, country estate may help her to get better; and it would be easier for my siblings and I to come and visit her on weekends and in the holidays. _

_If you would be so kind as to consider these requests, I would be eternally grateful._

_Yours faithfully,_

_Peter M. Pevensie_

The Professor re-read the letter twice more, allowing the wealth of information to sink in. The four children had been very pleasant on their last visit; indeed, the house had seemed rather empty without them. He had plenty of rooms to spare, and the young man seemed sincere.

Digory Kirke folded the letter up neatly, placed it in the pocket of his waistcoat, and hurried to out of the breakfast room and towards the backdoor, picking up his coat and his hat on the way.

"I'm just off to send a telegram, Mrs Macready, I'll be back shortly."

He called up the stairs, before hastily stepping outside onto the back step and hurrying down the path, not waiting for an answer.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Two days later, Weybridge Train Station, London, Finchley, 11:40 am._

"How long to go now?"

"For goodness sake Lucy, it's only been a few minutes since you last asked…"

Edmund shared a weary look with Peter, and shifted miserably. The hard, wooden bench was cold beneath him and his head felt heavy. The huddled family had quieted now, lapsed into one of those horrible, awkward silences which seemed to stretch on forever.

Edmund fiddled once more with the coarse, itchy cuff of his sleeve, and sighed. He felt terribly empty. Hollow. As though he would, and could, never feel anything ever again.

Only pain.

He swallowed the rising lump in his throat and pressed himself closer to Peter, moving away from his mother's rigid form. The look in her eyes frightened him more than any beast in all of Narnia had ever done.

She had stayed behind.

When the terrible, wailing sirens had howled, she had simply sat and gazed up at the picture upon the mantelpiece, even as Peter begged her to come to the shelter. Her eyes had been wide, unblinking, strangely blank.

When he had addressed her, she had only flinched.

They had been forced to leave her. Emerged the next morning, to a bright blue sky and deceptively grey clouds. Shards of glass had been strewn everywhere; nearly every window in the house shattered at the impact of the blast which destroyed the house a few doors down.

There had been a mother and her baby in that house.

Edmund shuddered, and looked up and down the platform until his eyes found the large clock at the far end, next to the timetable. Thirty minutes to go. For he and Peter, at least. Susan's train came in five minutes, Lucy and their mother's in fifteen.

He could not bear to say goodbye. But he could not bear not to, either. He had never gotten the chance to say goodbye to his father. And never would do, now.

He swallowed.

Peter glanced at him, watching as Edmund began to fiddle once more with the smooth strap on the wristwatch. It was metal, and far too large for his wrist, with a dial portraying roman numerals on it.

It had been their grandfather's, Dad had said. Passed down to the most deserving child for two generations. Three now.

Edmund's gaze shifted to Peter, eyes catching on the glint of a chain about his neck. Peter had refused to tell him what he had received as a last farewell. Edmund did not particularly care to know, either. It still hurt too much to even begin to think of it.

There was a far off whistle, and the familiar rhythmic beatings of creaking wheels upon a rusty track. Susan got stiffly up, and they all rose off the bench to stand awkwardly beside her as she gathered her things.

They could not find the strength to say anything.

It was like they had entered a silent, reflective time of mourning. They had hardly spoken to each other all morning, their Mother only bothering to address them when she was checking for the fifteenth time that Peter had everything in order.

Susan smiled weakly, dropping her cases as Lucy enveloped her in a tight embrace. The train pulled into the station with a loud hiss of released steam, and Susan drew away, turning to their mother.

They, too, embraced, albeit rather more formally.

Susan turned to her brothers, and hesitated, her eyes overly bright. Edmund, who could hardly bear to see her tears fall, moved forwards to give her an awkward pat on the arm.

She clapped him gently on the shoulder in return and smiled, before dropping a light kiss to his cheek. The Edmund of a few days prior would have protested violently to this, but the Edmund following his father's death could only smile shakily and draw back.

She avoided eye contact with Peter, kissing him lightly on the cheek just as she had done so with Edmund before hastily turning away, eyes downcast. Edmund looked to Peter, whose face was hidden by his hair, but Edmund caught the hurt in his eyes.

Peter's eyes. Not his father's. Just Peter's.

But only he seemed to believe that.

The next few minutes seemed to fly by. Susan's trains rounding the bend, the low chatter of the crowds around them. Everything seemed…detached. Peter had checked their tickets three times in the past minute, for lack of things to do with hands more than anything else.

Finally, and yet too soon, the second train came chugging into view. Edmund looked to Lucy, who sat perfectly still beside their mother, dark smudges beneath her eyes.

He had heard her and Susan quietly sobbing all night, in the shelter. He and Peter had simply sat, side by side, and listened, and waited.

It had rained that night.

A black cloud now hung perilously above them, and the conductors of the station immediately hurried inside to fetch raincoats. Edmund remained seated as Peter helped their mother and Lucy gather their things, only managing to lever himself shakily up as the first light splatters of rain began to fall.

It felt like it was raining inside his very heart.

He could not speak as he held Lucy close to him; could not bear to voice those dreaded words. They had always been together, always. Even at school, he had walked her home every afternoon, even waiting in the playground when she had an after school commitment.

That was after father had left of course. Before then, he would have-

"C'mon, Ed. Not much time now."

Peter's voice sounded softly from reality, and Edmund released Lucy, trying to smile and only managing a flicker of his lips. Peter himself was very pale, his hair messy, and his face remained completely impassive as Lucy wrapped her arms tightly around his waist.

Had Peter broken, too? Like his mother?

Helen Pevensie did not even look at her sons, her eyes fixed determinedly on her suitcase as she took her daughter's hand and led her away. Lucy stared over her shoulder pleadingly at them, but neither did anything, simply gazing back with equal despair.

She smiled weakly as the door closed behind her, and they could just see her spread her fingers in a silent gesture.

He and Peter stood close together, as the rain fell harder and Lucy and their mother boarded the train. The windows of the carriage were blurred by moisture, and as it pulled away they could neither see nor hear any final farewell which might have been given.

"She didn't even say goodbye."

Edmund heard himself say, not daring to look up at his brother for fear of what he might see.

Peter wrapped an arm around Edmund's shoulders, as the rain dripped down over their bare heads and soaked their uniforms, running down their faces and concealing any evidence of sorrow.

And their shameful tears were lost in the downpour.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

**A/N: So, Peter and Edmund are off to school, and Susan is also going to one nearby. Meanwhile, Mrs Pevensie and Lucy are staying with the Professor. Oh, such possibilities…**

**Cifel: (taps foot impatiently) And just when will I be in the picture?**

**For those who don't know who Cifel is…I suggest you go and read the prequel to this story, Ironic Synchronicity. And he won't be appearing until quite a way into the second half of the story…**

**Anyway, until next time…please review! I'm still on a learning curve here…no pain, no gain!**

**(Hypnotic eyes) R E V I E W**


	3. Many a Journey

**A/N: (Twiddles thumbs) So. I had to get rather clued up on the Boarding school conventions for this. Just so you know, we will be following Peter and Edmund's story prominently, with Lucy and their mother's interjecting. Susan's story will only be followed when in interaction with her family…as, though I hate to say it; her school life is bound to be quite dull.**

**Disclaimer: Narnia belongs solely to CS Lewis, and I sincerely hope he will not mind me borrowing his characters for a slight variation (cough cough) on his story. **

**Warnings: Nothing really. As ever, a little blood spilt.**

**Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.**

_**This is Edmund**_

Mistaken Perception

Part One: Late Arrivals

**_Chapter two: Many a journey_**

Edmund was jolted awake as the train slid to a wobbly halt, and groaned, feeling achingly comfortable and warm. He wrinkled his nose as his eyes fluttered open, turning his head into the crook of Peter's neck.

A chuckle from the chest beneath his ear.

"Up you get now, Edmund. We're here."

Peter stretched and rubbed his eyes, and Edmund blearily opened one eye to peer up at him. Peter looked…worn. Deeply exhausted, and not just physically. His normally bright eyes were cloudy and dull, and his face was pale besides his flushed cheeks.

Edmund moaned, protesting, and grabbed Peter around the chest as his brother moved to get up. He wanted to stay here forever; huddled in a small corner in the carriage, away from the uncertainty of what was to come.

Edmund hated the unknown.

In Narnia, he had always had an answer, always known what to do. He was consulted on topics of great importance, and had felt wanted, needed. Here, though…he was just another kid.

"Come on, Ed. Please."

Peter's voice was quiet, and somewhat hoarse. Edmund shook his head, dispelling the lingering curtain of sleep, and levered himself carefully away from the re-assurance of Peter's shoulder.

Edmund only vaguely registered as they gathered their suitcases, and stepped off the train into a crowded sea of identical uniforms. Suddenly, he felt very, very small.

Peter smiled gently at him, and took him by the arm, steering him carefully through the chaos to the station exit.

Edmund was so _sick _of trains, of stations. Of running away, of uncertainty. He just wanted to go _home, _to go back to the way things were.

But home wasn't there anymore.

It had been destroyed the moment the news had arrived.

Edmund gritted his teeth, and clutched Peter's arm convulsively. It was okay. Peter was here, he wouldn't let anything happen. It was alright. His father was gone, but Peter was here. It was going to be alright.

Peter gave him a somewhat drowsy, confused look, but Edmund shook his head. Increasing his pace, they moved to stand in a small corner beside a sign which proclaimed:

_Student's of St Lewis_

_Kindly assemble in an orderly fashion_

Edmund felt a lump rise in his throat as he watched row after row of boys, all neatly dressed and their hair immaculate, speaking in hushed tones with their parents. Edmund frowned. They all had upturned noses, and seemed to be constantly raising their eyebrows.

He nudged Peter and muttered under his breath.

"Hey, Peter…are they all this…well…odd?"

Peter snorted, and rolled his eyes, a small, if slightly drawn grin forming on his face.

"You must remember, Ed. We both got in on scholarships, for free. All these fellows are here because their parents have a lot of money."

Edmund scowled as a nearby boy with dark, curly hair sneered at him, looking down his nose. He stuck his tongue out, and although Peter reprimanded him, Edmund could tell his brother was sorely tempted to do the same.

Peter sighed.

"Just like you, Ed. Making enemies within the first few moments."

Edmund schooled his features into a look of confused innocence, and Peter sighed, rolling his eyes again. Edmund grinned, and turned back to silently insulting each of the stuck-up rich kids in turn.

"YO, PEVENSIE!"

Peter jumped about two feet in the air and let out a startled yelp, then muttered darkly as he bent to retrieve his dropped suitcase. Edmund blinked and frowned as a tall, gangly boy bounded over to them, waving frantically.

The boy's freckled face was split from ear to ear in a wide, crooked grin, his curly reddish-brown hair unkempt and falling into his eyes, which were a watery blue, but sharp with a mischievous glint.

Edmund stared at the boy as he skidded to a halt beside them. He hesitated, not recognising him. Was he one of Peter's friends?

The boy scowled at him, seemingly amused, and Edmund started, before returning in kind, just as fiercely.

The boy let out a barking laugh, grinned again, and ruffled Edmund's hair. Edmund only glared harder, but found it hard not to smile. The boy's cheery mood was infectious.

"So, you're Pete minor, huh? You as nerdy as your big brother?"

Edmund spluttered indignantly, looking indignantly to Peter, who was hastily gathering his fallen things. He was on his own for this one.

Slightly nervous, he folded his arms and continued to frown up at the boy.

"I'm Edmund."

He said, simply. Defensively. The boy smiled crookedly once more, clapping Peter hard on the shoulder as he rose, knocking the wind out of him. Peter glared at the boy, before raising his eyes to the sky, exasperated.

"Honestly, Cedric, you didn't have to be so abrupt about it…"

Peter turned to Edmund.

"Edmund this is my…acquaintance…Cedric. Ced, this is Edmund, my brother."

Cedric slung an arm around Peter's shoulders, winking at Edmund as he did so and giving an enthusiastic wave in greeting, though he was only a few feet away. Edmund had the sudden inexplicable urge to tear the boy, Cedric, away from his brother.

"So, you must have heard all about me, eh?"

Edmund shifted uncomfortably, but he could not recall any time when Peter had said anything about his friends at school.

"Uh…no. I haven't. Should I have? You don't seem like anything special to me."

His voice came out stiffer, less confident than he would have liked. Cedric, however, only moved hastily away from Peter and clutched at his heart, before saying in an overly melodramatic voice:

"Ah, Pete, I'm wounded. You told me all about little Eddykins here, yet you can't find it in your heart to spread the word of my brilliance?"

Edmund blanched.

"Ed…Eddy_kins_!"

Peter flushed, and put a restraining hand on Edmund's arm as he made to lunge at Cedric. He leant down and muttered in his little brother's ear:

"Drama student. And…I think he was dropped on his head as a baby, that or he's completely batty-OW!"

Cedric pouted and slapped Peter lightly on the arm, at which Edmund immediately reached for a sword at his waist. A sword which was not there.

So Edmund settled for a low growl and a scalding glare instead. Cedric blinked, taken aback, before raising an eyebrow and grinning once more.

"I like you, kid. You got a kinda…spunk to you. Unlike Mr Twinkle-toes-polish-my-halo-daily, here…"

Peter sighed as Edmund gave him a smug look, and looked over to the other side of the platform where the students had started to file slowly out, waving goodbye to bleary eyed women in silky clothing and fake fur mufflers.

Edmund wrinkled his nose in disgust as Peter muttered under his breath to himself, grabbing his brother's arm and briskly marching them towards the exit.

"Three minutes in, and I'm already suicidal…I think you've reached a new record, Ced. Now can we go?"

Edmund drew a deep, weary breath.

He had a terrible feeling he wasn't going to like this place. At all.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Are you sure this is the right station, Lucy?"

Lucy sighed, hefting her small, bulging suitcase under her arm. The platform was covered in leaves of all shapes, sizes and hues. A chill autumn breeze drifted lazily across the railway track, sending a swirling mass of the leaves rustling softly around them.

Her mother took her hand, and Lucy winced as she felt the brittle bones in the limb which enveloped hers tightly.

There was the cheerful tooting of a car horn, and Lucy smiled joyfully, spotting a small, forest green mobile draw up beside the stairs down to the road. Her mother called after her, but the youngest Pevensie's eyes were fixed upon the kindly smiling face in the window.

The Professor clambered out of the car, wiping his sweaty face with a handkerchief as he did so. Lucy dropped her suitcase and, on instinct, wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Oh, dear Professor! You came to get us!"

Professor Kirke chuckled, and patted her somewhat awkwardly on the head while smiling warmly at Helen, who responded in kind.

"I must apologise for my son's audacity. I assure you, I was completely unaware that-"

"Oh, it's quite all right, my dear, quite all right. You are blessed with four mightily fine young children, if is do say so myself. But dear me…children do grow up so fast, do they not?"

Helen blinked, and smiled wanly as she shook hands with the Professor, Lucy looking on eagerly as she studied the car's shining bonnet with awe.

"Is this yours, Sir? It's lovely!"

Professor Kirke turned, and patted a headlight fondly as he watched Lucy gaze at her reflection.

"Indeed, my dear. Old Primrose died mere weeks after you left, I'm sorry to say, and one cannot travel in a horse drawn carriage without a horse."

Lucy nodded, and moved to help the Professor as he began loading their things into the trunk at the back. He held the door open for Lucy, who climbed into the back, bouncing slightly on the creaking leather as her mother got in the front beside the Professor.

"Are you quite sure you don't mind us staying with you, Mr Kirke?"

"Oh, not at all, my dear. The house has seemed terribly empty since your children left. Your son sent me a telegram, and asked me to let you know that he and his brother arrived safely and shall be visiting this Saturday."

Lucy sighed, and leant her head against the window pane, allowing the idle chatter to wash over her like the seas beside Cair Paravel had done over the sand.

She was so…confused.

So miserably wretched, it was unbearable. But at any small spark of happiness or joy, she felt ashamed. As though she had no right to be happy, not anymore. Not without Daddy.

But Daddy had wanted her to be happy. He had said so, in the letter. Lucy clutched the thin envelope to her, careful not to scrunch the paper up.

Daddy had told her to be strong.

And she would be strong; she would pull through this. After all, it wasn't as if it could get any worse, now, could it?

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

_St Lewis Boarding School, East Wing, Dormitory seven; 7:30 pm. _

Peter felt his heart sink as he watched his brother stare dejectedly out of the dormitory window. It had begun to rain again, though harder this time, and heavy droplets spattered against the panes in an angry assault.

"Come on, Ed, cheer up. It's not that bad, only two other boys in here with you. Besides, I'm just down the corridor."

Edmund did not move, and for a moment Peter thought he hadn't heard him. He sighed, and turned back to unpacking his brother's things, inwardly tutting at the hap-hazardous nature of the messy contents. He felt more like his mother with each passing minute.

"But there's curfew, isn't there?"

Edmund asked quietly, still not turning from his perusal of the grounds. Peter frowned as he re-folded a pair of pyjamas and tucked them neatly under the pillow, thinking.

"Well, yes, for you. From eight you're not allowed out. Me, though…I think now I'm in upper school, my curfew's nine. So I could come see you at eight, if you like."

"Don't bother…I'd probably just interrupt you."

Edmund muttered, shoulders slumping. He clearly thought it would cause inconvenience to Peter. Peter noticed the warning signs of his brother's blatant refusal to be a burden.

"But I want to bother, Ed. I _like _spending time with you."

Peter moved over to put a hesitant hand on his brother's shoulder, trying to smile but not quite managing it. It would be infuriating for Edmund, being only a few feet away and yet unable to be with Peter.

Or maybe it was the other way around.

Edmund turned to him, a weary scowl still set in place. He gazed seriously at Peter, and there was an awkward pause. Edmund seemed to be looking right through him, as though searching for some form of deception.

Peter repressed a shudder and made another valiant attempt to lighten the mood.

"I can still see you at break and lunch, right? And we have PE at the same time, every day. Along with the hour after curfew. It's really not that bad."

Edmund gave him a look.

"Okay fine, so it is quite bad. But what can we do, Ed? Besides, there's always the weekends. We can go see Mum and Lu, and maybe Susan will visit at the same time."

Edmund considered, and his dark eyes seemed to lighten, just a little, and Peter heaved a silent sigh of relief. Moments later that was quashed when Edmund became downcast again.

"I…miss Dad."

Peter felt a familiar weight settle in his chest, and the whole room seemed suddenly darker; sinister. He swallowed thickly, and tried to suppress the swirling ponderings on what his brother must be thinking.

Edmund didn't want Mum, nor Susan, nor Lucy; and especially not him. Edmund only wanted Dad.

But Dad wasn't here anymore.

And he wouldn't be; ever again.

Peter felt that if he looked into his brother's grief stricken eyes a moment longer, he would break. He hastily reached inside the pocket of his blazer and withdrew a small envelope.

His hands were shaking again.

"Edmund?"

Edmund turned, and Peter carefully placed the letter in his hands, noting the large wristwatch around his brother's wrist. He licked his dry lips, as he felt Edmund's questioning stare bore into him.

"He left this for you; with the watch, I mean."

He drew his hands away and clenched them at his sides; not wanting Edmund to see them shaking. He watched his brother finger the slanted, familiar script which stated his name, his expression hidden by his hair.

On instinct, Peter leant forward and dropped a brief kiss to Edmund's brow before hurrying to the door, trying desperately to quell the shaking in his limbs.

He wanted to help, wanted to do something; but God, he didn't know how.

He just didn't know. Helpless, pathetic. He just…wasn't strong enough.

"G'night Ed."

And try as he might, he couldn't keep the tremor from his voice. And he didn't stop trembling until he had reached the refuge of his room, and slammed his own door behind him.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

**A/N: Oh, how wrong you are, Lucy, how wrong you are.**

**Yep, another emotional stalemate. This time, Edmund wants Peter to give him comfort, but Peter feels inadequate and thinks Edmund only wants their father. Edmund just wants to learn to depend on Peter, while Peter is in despair because he has nobody to depend on himself.**

**Wait, I think…(confused)**

**(Sighs) Anyway, I'll work it out somehow…I know what I'm doing, mostly…(clears throat) uh, honestly?**

**Cedric's more of a humour device than anything…he won't be appearing that much from now on. We still have a few more controversial characters to introduce…(say it with me: b u l l i e s)**

**Should I have said that?**

**Probably not...**

** R E V I E W **


	4. Distorted Reflections

**A/N: Okie dokie, then. I got a complaint about explaining everything in the author's note at the end of every chapter, so I have decided that if anyone has a question, they can send me a private message and I'll answer as quick as I can.**

**Savvy?**

**Oh yeah, I need your opinion on something. When Cifel is re-introduced, do you think I should have aged him a little? Because in the last story he appeared about nineteen, but I don't know whether he might have physically matured…what do you think?**

**Well, anyhow…**

**Oh YEAH! Cedric has absolutely nothing to do with the Harry Potter Cedric. Zilch, zit, nadda. I just like the name…**

**And yes, he is a prat. I wrote him that way.**

**Disclaimer: Narnia belongs solely to CS Lewis, and I sincerely hope he will not mind me borrowing his characters for a slight variation (cough cough) on his story. **

**Warnings: Nothing really. As ever, a little blood spilt.**

**Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.**

_**This is Edmund**_

Mistaken Perception

Part One: Late Arrivals

**_Chapter three: Distorted reflections_**

_Dark._

_Dark and cold._

_Swirling blackness, wreaths of fire. Dancing charred banners in the moonlight, depicting a coat of arms._

_Burnt out shells in the black recesses of the shadows, glowing embers illuminating their once proud structures. An embroidered golden flag at his feet, the yellowed thread stitching tainted with crimson blood. A lion. A lion stained with blood. _

_A scream._

_A bloodcurdling scream._

_His…own voice…?_

_**EDMUND!**_

_Peter's cry echoing and becoming swallowed in the oncoming shadows, dancing flames growing and roaring in his ears, cries and screams of indistinct volumes drowning his brother's voice._

_Dark._

_Cold._

_Silent._

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Peter sat bolt upright in bed, his peaceful sleep vanishing as though it itself were a dream. He was neither in a cold sweat, nor was his heart racing. He felt…uneasy.

…_**Peter?**_

And then he knew the cause of his fear.

He leapt light out of bed and tumbled to the floor, scrambling awkwardly upright and slamming against the opposite wall. Some of the other occupants of the room groaned and tossed, but Peter ignored them.

He didn't know how, he didn't know why; but Edmund…

Something wasn't right.

There had been dark shadows in his sleep; yet it had not been his dream he had been watching, he knew. It was…different. Detached. Somebody else's thoughts and feelings were flitting across his own consciousness.

Edmund.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was out of the door and in the dark quiet of the corridor, and forcibly halted himself as he took an unsteady step towards his brother's dormitory.

_**Peter!**_

The voice again.

He didn't stop to think this time; merely flung himself forwards once again, bare feet slipping on the varnished surface of the floorboards.

He had just reached the door, when it flew open, and he caught the edge with gritted teeth to stop it from slamming loudly and waking the whole school. Mere seconds later, he was assaulted with a charging mass of little brother.

They fell to the floor in an awkward heap, Peter stifling his cry of pain and clapping a hand over Edmund's mouth as he saw his brother open his own mouth to emit a surprised yelp.

For several long moments, they simply stared, stunned, at each other.

"Peter?"

"Edmund!"

They said simultaneously.

Silence.

Peter blinked, and suddenly Edmund was clutching him, shaking. From fear, or sadness, Peter could not tell. Some higher power took over, and Peter ceased to think, allowing his heart to dictate his actions.

"S'alright Ed, its okay. You're fine, you're alright."

It was a lie.

Nothing was okay; nothing was alright. And it seemed to the boy's, who sat for many hours huddled together on the hard panelled floor, that it never would be.

How could anything ever be 'alright' again?

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lucy sat neatly upon the windowsill, the moonlight casting dancing rays around the room. It seemed even more ethereal, unnatural, than the night when she had entered Narnia for the second time.

Her mother was weeping in the next room.

She had seen her; the door had been ajar, the tiny slit allowing Lucy to see her mother's hunched form, curled over as though in prayer, shuddering with sobs.

She shivered, and brought her legs up away from the floor to rest against her chest.

She had come here seeking solace; somehow, sitting so close to the reassuring presence of the wardrobe was…comforting. So many good, golden memories. But on the other hand…

They made her current situation seem all the worse.

But that was the way of things, she had learned; good could not be good without evil to contradict it. Happiness did not come without suffering.

But it didn't make the sufferance any the easier.

She was so terribly tempted; to just walk over to the structure, reach for the handle, and step inside. But she knew, if she did so, her last semblance of hope would be crushed as she slammed stinging fists against the hard wooden back.

Besides, she couldn't leave her mother. Not when she needed her so much.

Though she wasn't sure whether it was she who needed her mother…or her mother who needed her.

Well, whichever it may be…she couldn't sound one more moment of this ringing silence, punctuated only by her mother's grief.

And with that resolution, she scrambled off the windowsill and stood for a moment on the hard panelled floor, drawing a deep breath. She then walked calmly from the room, not daring to turn as she closed the door behind her.

She slept beside her mother that night; though even as morning broke and Helen Pevensie slept exhaustedly beside her daughter, Lucy did not feel the darkness lift.

It seemed forever black and cold, unending, stretching as far as the eye could see. And Lucy had no glimmering light to guide her way.

She was lost.

And there was nobody left to find her.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Edmund sat perfectly still in the lightening corridor, watching the dawn break through the stained glass windows, casting dancing coats of arms across the floor before him.

Peter sat hunched beside him, slumped against him in dreamless sleep with his head atop Edmund's. The soft sound of light breathing and the feeling of his brother's chest rising and falling slowly beside him calmed him, at least a little.

But he did not sleep.

Thoughts and emotions swirled in endless turmoil, washing over him and beating at his insides in a feverish battle. It kept replaying over and over in his mind, letters and words mixing together, a bodiless voice whispering within his mind.

His father's voice.

_Dear Edmund,_

_I don't know if you will ever receive this letter; and I sincerely hope you never have to. But, in the case that you are actually reading this, please understand one thing before I begin:_

_I am sorry, and I never meant to hurt you._

_No doubt Peter has already given you the watch I enclosed. You may not remember, but when you were about four you asked if you could have it, one day. I know the strap may be a little big, but I'm sure you'll grow into it. If you haven't already of course._

_God, but this is so strange. There is so much I want to say, yet so little time. There is mere hours before the shelling begins once more. But I shall finish this; I will say what must be said._

_Edmund, I realise that you have always resented that Peter resembles me. And I beg of you, do not hold it against him, now that I am gone. And know that, terrible as it may be, I have always kept a very special place in my heart for you; you look so like your mother, it is uncanny._

_I know life has not been good to you, son. Being the third child is never an easy position to bear. But know this: the day you were born, your brother made me a very solemn promise. Naïve as he was at the time, I firmly believe he strives to carry it through till the day he dies:_

'_Don' worry, Dadda. I'll pr…prodent…look after the baby. Nuffin will happen to him nor Mummy, I promise!'_

_I expect you are angry at me; possibly at your mother, and your siblings too. Please, Edmund, do not turn them away on my account. If you wish to blame anybody, blame me. I have failed you all._

_And most especially failed you, Edmund. I love you all so much; it hurts to even think of any of you. My one light, guiding hope in the darkness is that you can learn to love each other as much as I love you._

_Be strong; be strong for your mother, and for me. Be strong for Susan, Lucy and Peter, and they shall find strength in you. And you shall find strength in them._

_Do that…and maybe my death will not be such a failure. I love you more than words can say, my son. _

_And I only wish that that was enough._

_Your loving Father,_

_Henry J. Pevensie_

Edmund was too exhausted to summon the strength to feel pain. He clenched his fist in the coarse material of Peter's shirt, feeling a molten anger fill his veins, clouding his mind with a haze of emotion.

He began to shake.

How could he? How could he just leave them, without a father, their mother broken by grief? How _dare_ he…

And he claimed to _love _them…

He had torn the letter to shreds, the pieces now lying strewn in a scene of devastation across his pillow.

Far away, a cockerel sounded a screeching call, announcing the beginning of a new day to the sleeping world.

And so the dawn broke.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Alea jacta est. Repeat after me: Al-ea, jac-ta, est.

"Alea jacta est."

Edmund muttered the immediate response automatically, allowing his face to sink further into his arms. Mr Zerga, Head of the Languages department, could quite possibly bore the tail off Aslan himself.

He muttered under his breath a rhyme he had once seen written in Peter's school books; he had a sneaking suspicion it had been written by Cedric.

"Latin is a language

As dead as dead can be

It killed the ancient Briton's

And now its killing me."

There was a low chuckle next to him, and Edmund turned his head slowly to look up at the boy sitting next to him.

He had a strange feeling…he had seen him before.

Oh, the boy who had looked down his nose at him at the station…dark curly hair, pointy features.

'_Just like you, Ed. Five minutes in and your already making enemies!'_

Maybe Peter had been right (as if he ever wasn't). Now the boy was so close to him, Edmund didn't think it was such a great idea to confront him. He had an icy glint in his eye which reminded Edmund painfully of the witch.

King Edmund the Just would not have stood for such intimidation; but Edmund Pevensie was not quite so valiant.

"I've seen you. You're that smart assed kid who was with Pevensie at the station."

It was more of a statement than a question. Uttered softly, a low, calm but somehow menacing hiss which slipped beneath the Latin teacher's warbling tone. The boy leant back in his chair, languidly stretching long, lanky limbs with an adolescent crack.

Edmund suppressed a shudder and tried to keep his face neutral, awaiting the inevitable follow up. The boy leant over his book, flipped over the cover, and read the name scribbled hastily on the inside page.

"So. You're his brother."

Edmund said nothing; not rising to the bait. But he was so recklessly miserable, he didn't really care if the boy was older, or stronger than he was.

"You gonna give me as much trouble as he did?"

Edmund blinked, and frowned. What on earth did that mean? The boy chuckled deeply once again, and turned his piercing eyes away to stare at the front of the class.

"Peter Mark Isaac Pevensie. The only guy in the entirety of this school who can look me in the eye and dare to show his hatred."

Edmund wasn't sure what to think. Infuriating as this arrogant boy was, in order to gain such status he must be quite powerful. Edmund knew full well it would be best just to keep his nose clean and steer clear.

But since when had Edmund ever done what was best for him?

On the contrary, danger was somewhat intriguing to him. And right now, with the hundreds of conflicting emotions inside of him…he could do with something to direct it at.

Edmund raised a delicate eyebrow and turned to look at the boy, amused.

"You expect him to be _afraid _of an arrogant kid like you? Don't make me laugh."

The boy's eyes flashed, and Edmund felt an intoxicating sense of triumph fill him, overturning his grief. Yes, this was what he needed. Relief. Power over others, exerted to gain respect.

"You listen good, Pevensie. I've been waiting for a long time to get Peter Pevensie back for what he did to me. I've been stuck in this year of schooling for far too long, thanks to him. And if you get in my way, I'll crush you as I once crushed him."

Edmund took this information in, and carefully filed it away for future perusal. This was…interesting. Perhaps this year would not be as boring as he had previously thought.

Edmund leant his chin on his upturned hand and smirked, staring at the boy with a condescending, aloof air.

"If that's what you'd like to believe; go ahead. I'm not stopping you."

The boy's eyes swiveled slowly around to gaze at Edmund's own, and Edmund could not help the smallest shiver as a sadistic gleam swirled in their dark depths.

"You just watch your back, Pevensie. Some rather…unpleasant things happen to people who don't know their place around here."

Edmund's eyes narrowed as he saw a taunting sneer curl the boy's thin lips.

"But you of all people should understand that. Tell me; how _did _low life trash like you manage to sneak in? Did your mother sleep with the Headmaster, or something?"

Perhaps it was a good thing the bell rang at that moment. If it hadn't, Peers Jordan, for the second time in his life, would have found his nose broken, courtesy of a Pevensie.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Did the last sentence make sense? Dear oh dear, what has angelic (cough cough) Peter been up to in his school life?**

**From observation of reactions to the death of a close one, the immediate repercussion is shock. Then anger. Strange, but true. **

**A/N: A lot of people have been itching for me to make Edmund 'slap some sense' into Peter. Remember what happened last time? Well, if you don't, I'll reiterate: last time, Edmund quite literally slapped Peter back to reality. **

**Peter: (extremely concerned for his own well being) This is NOT going to be good…**

**I fear it may take something just as shocking to do it again…**

**(Maniacal laugh)**

**Ahem, anyway…review, and you will have done your good deed for the day and can therefore run off to scoff chocolate without fear that the computer chair will collapse under your weight when you return.**

**Come on, you know you want to!**


	5. Oxymorons

**A/N: Somebody requested I had a little more Susan in here, so I decided to give her some credit in this chappy. Plus, a lot of people are eager to know what her father said in his letter, and what she received as a gift. **

**As for the Latin…um…uh…(rushes off to check with Mum) it was a quote I got from Julius Caesar.**

**Alea jacta est chance is thrown away**

**Thanks for your opinions on Cifel! I have concluded he shall age about…hm…two years, so he appears about twenty one. That's one year's growth for every two centuries. **

**Disclaimer: Narnia belongs solely to CS Lewis, and I sincerely hope he will not mind me borrowing his characters for a slight variation (cough cough) on his story. **

**Warnings: Nothing really. As ever, a little blood spilt.**

**Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.**

_**This is Edmund**_

Mistaken Perception

Part One: Late Arrivals

**_Chapter three: _**

"His name is Peers Jordan; he was in my class a year ago. Thought he was so much better than the rest of us because his _Daddy _own a munitions factory."

It was break time. Edmund and Peter sat in the paved courtyard, on a varnished bench beneath an apple tree. The morning sun was bright and spilled over the ghoulish figures of the gargoyles at every corner of the school roof, sending sprawling shadows across the stones below.

The school building itself was old, but kept in good condition. Patches of discoloured brick lined the walls where old ones had crumbled away, and some of the windows were mismatched.

The main building was an almost perfect square, clean cut, with a large open space in the middle where Peter and Edmund now sat. Attached to the main building were four wings, north, south, east and west. There was also a playing field, sports hall, kitchen gardens and dining hall.

It was a perfectly ordered place; everything and everyone was where it should be. It was no small wonder that Edmund disliked it.

"You and he were enemies?"

Peter lifted one shoulder uneasily, and reached up to snatch a ripe apple from the tree above. He leant back against the warm wood of the bench and took a lazy bite, apparently thinking.

"Well, let's just say he got me riled, and leave it at that."

Edmund raised an eyebrow at that. Getting Peter riled was not as easy as it sounded. Of course, it was for Edmund, but he was his brother. For others…Peter was generally a calm, collected person. It was difficult to get under his skin.

This Peers must be quite formidable, to get Peter Pevensie angry.

"He said he wants revenge for something."

Peter swallowed thickly and cleared his throat, refusing to look at Edmund and instead gazing up at the looming, disfigured form of a gargoyle glaring down at them. When he spoke, his voice was casual, though guarded.

"He did, did he? Well, I'd like to see him try…"

Peter's sky blue eyes narrowed, and he took another abrupt bite from the apple while Edmund reached up to the nearest branch and grabbed one for himself. He studied his brother, noting the stiffness of his posture.

"Peter, what did you do? He seemed _really _hacked off…"

Peter turned his head, and gave Edmund a searching look. The kind of look which makes the subject feel as though they've got something on their face, which shouldn't be there.

"Like I said, he got me riled. So much so I…punched him. With a closed fist. Broke his nose, I think, that's why it's wonky now. He never told anyone it was me, though. Couldn't take the shame."

It was said in a perfectly flat, neutral tone, but Edmund could see both reminiscent anger and satisfaction in Peter's eyes. But also…shame. Peter had never liked resorting to violence.

"But he left you alone after that?"

Peter sighed, and shifted, stretching his legs languidly before him and wincing.

"Well, I wouldn't say he 'left me alone'. He still sort of lurks menacingly. But he never comes within punching distance."

Edmund couldn't suppress a grin at that, a mental image of his brother's fist slamming into the boy's face and the resulting crack of shattering bone. You had to hand it to Peter; he could throw a really mean hit when the situation required.

"So I have to punch him to get rid of him? That shouldn't be too hard."

Peter's eyes flashed, and his head snapped around so fast Edmund blinked. The apple core was tossed over his brother's shoulder as Peter gave him a piercing look.

"No, Edmund, you are _not _going to punch him. You are going to stay as far out of his way as you can."

Edmund felt a small twinge of angry frustration at this, but calmed himself. He had been through this before. Peter was only saying this because he cared; and Edmund could hardly condemn him for that.

But it didn't mean he couldn't protest.

"What! Peter, the guys a bloody monster!"

"Ed! Language! But listen, seriously."

Peter shot a wary glance around the courtyard, sending a few innocent first years a glare which sent them scuttling away. He turned back to Edmund, face serious, and lowered his voice to a murmur.

"Peers may not be the sharpest crayon in the box, but he's got power. A lot of it. And respect, born of fear, of course, but it's respect nonetheless. There are ways besides violence to bring a man down."

Edmund snorted, but heeded Peter's words. He had suspected as much. After all, what was a tyrant without the people he terrorises?

"This from the person who broke the guy's nose."

Edmund could have sworn he saw a flicker of a smile flit across Peter's face, but it was gone in a heartbeat. Peter turned to look up at the school building once again, letting out a long, slow breath.

"Yes, well. I lost control. And it's not like I didn't pay for it, in the end."

Edmund frowned.

"What…what do you mean?"

Peter shook his head, and ran a hand through his hair distractedly. Edmund's frown deepened. Such movements were only seen when Peter was either agitated, or angry.

Perhaps he was both.

"It doesn't matter, not anymore. Safe to say, it earned him to be held back a year, two now, I think. He was in my class two years ago, you see."

Yes, Peers had seemed, and looked, a lot older than Edmund. Edmund wondered vaguely what could have possibly caused the boy to be held back for a whole two years, but thought better than to push the matter.

"So you're telling me…to just stay away from him and do nothing?"

Peter's face darkened, and he chuckled bitterly.

"Oh, believe me, Ed. There will be no need for you to go searching him out. He'll come to you. And I am not dictating your decisions. You're a grown boy now, and already decided the fate of an entire realm many times. But I will say this:"

He fixed Edmund with the sort of look he had fixed the soldiers in the army in Narnia; the 'don't question me' look.

"Peers is ruthless. He has no morals, no sense of duty. If you must play the hero, Ed, please, _please_ be careful."

Edmund saw the genuine concern in his brother's eyes, but nevertheless felt put out. Peter was never actually afraid of anything; just wary. But it seemed he was very, very wary of Peers Jordan.

Edmund shook such thoughts off, and slung an arm around his brother's shoulders, managing to grin as Peter rolled his eyes.

"Hey, don't worry! If he comes too close, I'll have my big brother to whack him for me."

Peter sighed.

"No, Edmund. I shall not be doing anymore 'whacking', unless your safety is at stake. And bear this in mind: Peers is out to get _both _of us. And he'll do it by any means necessary. Just…don't do anything stupid, alright?"

Edmund clutched at his heart and released a melodramatic sigh, feigning hurt. Peter cuffed him gently upside the head, exasperated.

"I'm hurt, dear brother mine. Me, do something stupid? So, this is the new phrase replacing 'do as your told', huh?"

Peter rested his chin on his hand, reluctantly resigned to his fate.

"You're never going to change, are you?"

Edmund grinned like a maniac.

"Nope."

The bell rang, and they both hastily gathered their books and stood, Edmund fishing in the front pocket for his timetable. Peter put a hand on his arm, and Edmund glanced up at him.

"I think we have PE in the same class today, this period. Just wait till you see the teacher, he's like an oxymoron in the flesh…"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Susan stood beside the window, turning the thin, coarse envelope over and over in her hands, thinking. She had two hours of free time, now, but had not gone down to the canteen for lunch as her friends had done.

She needed time alone.

Her gaze flitted back over to the small, wrapped brown parcel on the bed, then down to the letter in her hands. She had to do this. There was absolutely no alternative, no logical way out.

She took a deep breath, and slit the letter open with her forefinger, allowing the outer covering to slip to the floor as she unfolded the thin paper, and began to read.

_My dear Susan,_

_Last I saw you, you were a little girl. Now, no doubt, you are a young woman. I cannot bear to imagine how you have grown, and my deepest regret in leaving you is that I shall never see the beautiful young woman my daughter has grown into._

_I enclose with this letter, among your sibling's gifts, a small token for you. It is not much, but it is all that I have. You may not remember, but it once stood upon your Grandmother's dressing table._

_When you were a very young child you would love to pick it up and gaze at your reflection, always with the tiniest of frowns on your face. My mother was very fond of that mirror, as my father gave it to her as an engagement present._

_She always loved you the best, and so left this for you in her will when she died. I am sorry I could not give it to you until now. She asked me to tell you to look into it, and frown, and think, but to always be content with what you see._

_No, I don't know what she meant by it either. But think on it, Susan. And do not dwell upon my death, as you have so often dwelt on other things in the past. Sometimes these things happen because they must; and because there is no way to change them._

_Never look back, my darling child. Look to the future, with your siblings, your mother. They need you more than ever before now. No matter how unfair, how terrible things may seem, they are never as bad as they are first presented._

_You have always been so clear headed, so true to yourself. I trust that you shall remain that way, for all time. And learn to love life without a poor broken man who has nothing to give but the reflection of yourself._

_Be true, and never forget to love, my darling._

_May God be with you._

_Your loving Father,_

_Henry J. Pevensie_

Susan re-folded the paper neatly, and stood for a moment, allowing it to wash over her. Eventually, she turned away from the window and walked to the bed, sitting down and pulling the small parcel to her.

She pulled the edge of the string, and the paper fell away with a soft rustle, revealing a solid silver, ornate but modest hand mirror.

She fingered the swirling, flowery patterns engraved into the edge, and leant forward, gazing into the shining depths.

The schoolgirl's reflection distorted and changed, the hair growing longer and the features maturing into that of a Queen of the Golden Age. Susan held it up, a gentle, reminiscent smile slowly forming on her face.

It was so painful to remember; yet so hard to forget.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mr Henley, who was, ironically, the Physical Education teacher, was an oxymoron in the flesh. Literally. His robust paunch wobbled as he walked, his track suit straining at the seams as it fought valiantly to contain the abundance of fat beneath it.

It was the best Edmund could do not to laugh.

He shared a significant look with his brother across the playing field, and could just make out Peter shaking his head in warning, an amused grin spreading across his face.

"Right, you undeserving little varmits! This year is gonna be tough. We're gonna work off all that holiday fat, and fast."

Edmund noted that nobody dared to laugh at the word 'fat'.

"I want two lines; height order. Hop to it!"

He blew on a large, shrill whistle, and Edmund hastily got into line beside a boy a fraction taller than him, and another a fraction smaller. He looked to the front of the other line, and saw Peers Jordan near the front, talking quietly with two other boys who appeared equally as cruel.

They were shooting glances at Peter, who was at the very front of the second line, only bested in height by Cedric, who was scowling at Peers with an unveiled look of disgust.

"You, kid!"

Edmund was snapped back to reality as Mr Henley appeared before him, lashing out with a clipboard to swat Edmund on the shoulder. Edmund yelped, and felt an inexplicable surge of anger which had not come from him.

He looked up, and met Peter's narrowed, burning gaze.

"Stop slouching! There, see, you're much taller than all of these midgets. Front of the line! NOW!"

Edmund moved to the front obediently, passing Peers without looking at him. He did, however, notice as the three boys suddenly huddled together and began to whisper feverishly.

He snorted.

_Not _very subtle.

"You alright, Ed?"

Edmund blinked and turned to find Peter looking at his reddening arm in concern, but nodded, still half listening to Peer's conversation.

"Yes, it just stings a little. I'll be fine."

Peter shot a scalding glare the teacher's way, but moved back in place in the line as Mr Henley began barking out further orders. It seemed they were playing rugby for this session; good. Edmund needed an excuse to work off some tension.

They were split into two teams; Edmund's team wore blue bibs while the other simply stayed in their games kit. He soon learnt just how ruthless a simple game of rugby could be. He could have sworn he saw somebody actually _bite _an opposing team player.

Mere minutes in, Edmund saw Cedric, who was on the opposing team, score. He looked around for Peter, and saw he wore no bib. Great. Just peachy. He dived for the ball as it came his way, but was immediately pushed aside as one of the boy's Peers had been talking to elbowed him in the side.

The boy only had seconds to leer at Edmund, who was sprawled on the ground before something a lot harder than an elbow collided with the side of his head.

Edmund looked up, to see Cedric smile innocently and wink at him, having chucked a free ball at the boy's head. Edmund couldn't help a grin, and scrambled to his feet as the second point was scored.

This time by Peers.

Immediately afterwards, however, he dropped his guard to flash Edmund a smirk, and in the fractional moment he was distracted, Edmund saw Peter slam into his side and snatch the ball before sprinting off down the field.

He very nearly laughed out loud at Peers' face, but thought better of it as he saw the two boys who had been with Peers move towards him menacingly.

Deciding retreat was the best form of valour, he sprinted off after Peter up the field, pretending, like the other blue bibs, to attempt to get the ball off him. But he could never actually try to physically steal from Peter.

He wasn't sure how it happened.

One moment, he had been jogging slowly up the field watching his brother get closer and closer to the opposing end. The next, Peers had appeared at Peter's side as if from nowhere, and stuck out his foot.

Peter, who was now mere feet away from Edmund, tripped over and slammed into the ground, a resounding crack sounding as his head hit the ground.

_Snarls and the snapping of teeth._

_Peter was flung away from Edmund, and he slammed into the ground with a bone jarring jolt, his head hitting the sharp edge of a boulder with a sickening smack._

And suddenly, Edmund had grabbed the hard leather rugby ball and slammed it straight into Peer's smirking face with all the strength he could muster.

There was a ringing, terrible silence.

"**PEVENSIE!"**

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

**A/N: The italic bit was a flashback to the prequel to this, Ironic synchronicity, when a pack of wolves attack Peter and Edmund. He he…for the record, leather rugby balls are not hard enough to break noses. But they do leave nasty bruises…**

**Edmund: (not at all repentant) For every review, I'll slam a sledgehammer into Peer's face.**

**Uh…yeah. So, go on! You want to see his nose actually broken (again) don't you? Ooh…the angst aproacheth…**

**R E V I E W**


	6. Exchanges

**A/N: Here we are again. It's the holidays (well, nearing the end now) so I suddenly started updating faster. Apologies for the erratic speed of updating! But better late than never, yes?**

**Just so you know, Peers got a sledgehammer in the face a total of nine times. Those who reviewed can feel satisfied that their revenge has been exacted.**

**Disclaimer: Narnia belongs solely to CS Lewis, and I sincerely hope he will not mind me borrowing his characters for a slight variation (cough cough) on his story. **

**Warnings: Nothing really. As ever, a little blood spilt.**

**Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.**

Mistaken Perception

Part One: Late Arrivals

**_Chapter five: Exchanges_**

Peter groaned, his vision swimming lazily, the ground beneath him swaying like an exuberant pendulum. He hissed as a loud shout echoed across the now perfectly silent field, and reached up a hand to clutch his head, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

"Peter? You okay?"

Peter blearily opened one eye and sat up carefully, hand on his throbbing forehead. The ground beneath him shook as two plimsolled feet appeared, but the two Edmund's (which slid in and out of focus) didn't pay the teacher any heed.

"M'dizzy. Be alright in a minute."

He managed to grit out, before Edmund was yanked out of his line of vision and the shouting began again.

"JUST WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, YOU LITTLE SOD! I'LL HAVE YOUR HIDE FOR THIS, I-"

"With all due respect, Sir…"

Peter clambered carefully to his feet, ignoring his swirling vision and narrowing his eyes to a squint in order to focus on Mr Henley's rapidly reddening face. He had Edmund by the collar, and Peter could see Peers edging slowly away.

"Peers tripped me up. Edmund was only acting in my defence."

Cedric had herded Peers back over to stand beside the two brother's and the teacher, who had dropped Edmund and was now leering at Peers. Peers himself was clutching his nose, which was bleeding profusely.

"You have five seconds to explain, before you are ALL punished. Painfully."

Edmund cut across Peers' outburst and hastily moved to hold Peter upright, as his brother had begun to sway dangerously. It hadn't been that hard a fall, and the ground was mostly quite soft, but Peter would probably have a nasty bruise come morning.

"Sir. Peers came up behind Peter and tripped him up on purpose. I…overreacted. I did not mean-

"And your excuse for THAT would be?"

Edmund glanced at Peter, whose eyes were clouded and unfocused from disorientation. He felt again that writhing, searing well of anger flow through him, strengthening him. Pure power, such that he hadn't felt since he was King of Narnia.

"He's my brother, Sir."

Mr Henley raised a sceptical eyebrow, and leant forwards until his face was right up close to Edmund's.

"Know what, boy? I don't give a _damn _if he's your ruddy brother! Both you and Peers, in the hall, this evening at eight. And it ain't gonna be pretty."

Edmund sighed and lowered his head, but it snapped up as he felt Peter shift away from him.

"Sir. I respectfully refuse to allow Edmund to do this."

There was a stunned silence, as Henley pivoted slowly on his heel to fix Peter with a scalding scowl, his face turning a dangerous purple. Peter stood his ground, gazing back with cool sky blue eyes.

"And just how do you figure you have a say in the matter, Pevensie?"

Peter drew himself up to his full height, several inches taller than Henley. Edmund noted the dangerous, burning gleam in his eyes which had thwarted many an enemy in the days of Narnia. Henley faltered.

"Because our father is dead. And now I hold all responsibility for Edmund's actions."

There was a pause; an awkward one. Peter's voice had been flat, emotionless, and Edmund reached for his brother's shoulder, opening his mouth to protest. Peter, however, shrugged him off.

"Leave it, Ed. You've done enough."

He said quietly. Edmund felt a surge of anger, mixed with guilt. He had only slammed the ball into Peers' face because he was threatening Peter. However, Peter was defending him now.

It made no sense to interfere.

"There is no need to punish Edmund. I claim full responsibility, including any form of punishment he may have had to endure."

Edmund's eyes widened.

"Peter, no!"

Peter whirled on Edmund, and clasped him tightly by the shoulder, eyes now emanating a feverish anger mixed with…fear.

"Edmund, _enough._"

They locked gazes, an internal battle which blazed with uncountable emotions. Edmund drew a shaky breath and resolutely stared into Peter's eyes, trying to see beyond the sky blue surface to the swirling thoughts beneath.

Henley, meanwhile, had recovered.

"You, runt."

He began, gesturing at Edmund.

"Will face the consequences of your actions. However, I will be lenient. And you,"

He addressed Peter.

"…will face excess punishment for your brother along with penance for your insolence."

Peter heaved an uneasy sigh of relief, while Edmund glared hotly at him. Peers had long since fled to plead his case, following Henley to the main building, but only received a cuff around the ear for his efforts.

Edmund moved to put a supporting arm around Peter's waist as the two brothers moved slowly to follow the rest of the class. He glanced up at the nasty bruise forming on Peter's temple, and silently vowed to make Peers pay.

"You didn't have to do that."

Edmund said quietly, halting for a moment to brush Peter's golden hair away from the bruise and frowning. Peter smiled lopsidedly, and clasped Edmund's hand, pulling it away from the injury.

"Yes, I did."

He said firmly, and Edmund smiled weakly in response. Peter wrapped an arm around Edmund's shoulders, and they made their way back to the changing rooms in comfortable silence.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Lucy, darling? Would you come here a moment?"

Lucy jerked, her reverie broken by her mother's soft call from the next room. She rubbed her thumb once more over the smooth surface of the shilling in her hand, smiled, and slipped it into her chest pocket.

The King's shilling.

Given to every soldier the moment they sign up to the army. A token, symbolic of their service to their nation. It was said to lose it was unlucky, or so Lucy had heard. She wasn't sure what Daddy had meant, giving it to her.

"Yes, Mummy?"

Her mother had not gotten up this morning. Simply sat, half propped up by her pillows, gazing out of the window at the grounds and the bright blue sky above. She had a strangely blank, somehow carefree look in her eyes.

Lucy was afraid.

The kindly, contented smile scared her far more than when the sobbing came at night. She lived in constant wakeful apprehension, never knowing which way her mother would turn; to the light, or to the dark.

She crept into her mother's room and stood by the bedside, drawing in the sweet smell of 'lily of the valley'. Her mother's favourite perfume. She said it reminded her…of their father.

Helen Pevensie's smile faltered at the downcast expression on her youngest's face.

"Oh darling. Why so sad? It's a beautiful day."

Lucy huddled next to her mother, gazing at the bright sunshine spilling through the window. It was slightly ajar, a warm autumn breeze swimming languidly, the lace curtains tossing in the draught.

"It's Daddy, isn't it?"

Lucy's head snapped up to meet her mother's slightly deranged, pitying gaze. She stared, as Helen Pevensie's cheeks split into an encouraging smile.

"Don't worry, my darling. He'll be home soon. Tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow. Wouldn't that be lovely?"

She murmured the word tomorrow under her breath once more, a slightly troubled expression dispelling her euphoria. She sank back into the pillows, gave her daughter one last smile, before allowing her eyes to slip shut.

Lucy crept back, away from Helen's peaceful face, disbelief and despair filling her sea green eyes.

Then she ran from the room, slippered feet slapping against the varnished boards, sparing only a tiny glance for the door to the wardrobe as she passed.

Her father's words rebounded about her head, and she fumbled for the small round penny in her pocket, skidding to a halt besides the locked door of the Professor's study, leaning over to catch her breath.

_My dearest little Lucy,_

_I have always felt, despite you being the youngest, you are the bravest and strongest of us all. Even when you fell over, grazed your knee, watched the bombs fall, you never doubted once._

_You never doubted me; and it rips me apart to know I have betrayed your trust. But please, dearest one. Do not let your faith be lost. Believe me, when I say I shall never be truly gone._

_But you must learn to let me go._

_The faithful cling to hope. It keeps them alive, keeps them human. Hold onto that hope, but do not allow it to consume you, as so many have before. Do not forget, but do not spend your whole life looking back, wishing for a time gone by._

_They all cried at the station. Your mother, Peter, Susan, and yes, even Edmund. I've shed my tears, but you…you've always been strong. They need you now. I shall never tuck you in, never kiss you goodnight. But no matter what happens, wherever you may be…if you need me, I shall be there._

_I swear this on the love I bear you all._

_Protect the dying light of hope, my child. Nurture and protect it in all the living world you see around you._

'_Shine as a light to the world,_

_In the glory of God the father.'_

_And be strong, dear one._

_Your loving Father,_

_Henry J. Pevensie_

She was trying. She was trying to desperately hard, but the light was flickering even as she reached desperately for it. Her mother had broken, clung to the false promise of salvation, shelter from the storm.

She was so terribly alone.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Edmund picked at his food with his fork, idly listening to the cheerful chatter around him. Cedric, some way up the table, was amusing the first years by balancing a whole black pudding on the wrong end of his spoon.

Edmund snorted. Juvenile.

"Come on, Ed. You've got to eat something."

Edmund wrinkled his nose and pushed the plate away, not bothering to look at his brother, who sighed. Peter had managed to miss a whole class while the nurse fussed over his injury.

Edmund was satisfied to note that Peers, who was shooting him dirty looks, now bore a nose plaster and several yellow bruises.

"You're going to need your strength later. Literally."

Edmund decided not to ask. They had mere minutes before they were due in the hall, and he had a feeling the consequences would be severe if they were late. Peter sighed, and finished his last mouthful of steak and kidney pie before rising from his seat.

"Fine, then. Let's go."

As they left the hall, out of the corner of his eye Edmund saw Peers rise from his seat to follow. He scowled, and hurried to catch up with his brother's stride. He was very ill at ease about all this. Just what sort of punishment was used here?

"Peter…what do you think it'll be? The punishment I mean."

Peter stopped and glanced down at his brother, and the barest of flushes spread across his cheeks. Edmund raised an eyebrow, and crossed his arms.

"You've never been in trouble before, have you?"

Peter shook his head, and turned to walk briskly down the corridor, Edmund unable to resist a teasing grin and a light smack to his brother's arm.

"Bloody swot. But seriously. You must have some idea?"

Then, all at once, something occurred to him. It made him stop dead, that searing guilt settling like lead in his stomach.

"Hey…I'm wrecking your reputation, aren't I?"

Peter turned sharply to face him, eyes flashing with indefinable emotions. He marched back to where Edmund had stopped, and placed a hand on each of his shoulders.

"You really think I give a damn about reputation? It can go take a hike. As long as my grades are still good, and you're alright, I'll be satisfied."

Edmund looked up at him, a thousand thoughts still racing through his mind.

"But-"

"But nothing. And don't you start feeling guilty about me getting in trouble, either. Don't you understand, Ed? _You_ are what really matters. I'd rather face a thousand Henley's than see you hurt. Understand?"

Edmund was about to open his mouth to reply, when a smug tone sounded from right behind them.

"Aw, how endearing. I think I'm gonna cry. Get a sodding grip, God, you'd think your father had died or something."

Silence.

Peers smirked, lips curling upwards into a cruel smile.

"But oh, wait. I forgot, he did. Shame."

Edmund made to lunge, but Peter grabbed him around the chest and hauled him back. Peers simply raised an eyebrow and continued on around them towards the gym hall. Peter only released Edmund when he had rounded the corner and left their sight.

Edmund turned on his brother.

"What did you do that for! I would've strangled the flaming-"

"Edmund."

Peter said, quietly, somewhat wearily. He took Edmund's arm and led him slowly after Peers, waiting for his younger brother to settle down a little before continuing.

"You see now just how low he'll go. I told you not to do anything stupid. I am trusting you to use your better judgement. Don't let me down. Alright?"

Edmund stared at him, and after a moment, nodded. They were now just outside the door to the gym. As Edmund reached for the handle, Peter reached out to stop him, imparting one last thread of wisdom.

"Besides. Do you really think beating the living daylights out of him in the middle of a corridor is subtle? I thought you were more cunning than _that._"

Edmund could only laugh.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Digory Kirke was surprised to hear the hesitant knock on his study door. He glanced at the clock, seeing it was about four in the afternoon. This was…odd.

"Come in!"

He was even more surprised when the door swung slowly open to reveal a rather nervous, out of breath little girl whose flushed cheeks gave away the fact she had been running. He smiled gently, and moved around the desk to greet her.

"Lucy, my dear. What on earth brings you to see an old bore like me at such an hour?"

She managed a tight, wavering smile and shut the door behind her. Digory held up a hand as she opened her mouth to speak.

"No, no. Tea before business, that's the way in civilised company. And we must pretend for the sake of etiquette that we are such, hmm?"

She smiled properly and scrubbed at her eyes with the heel of her hand, before moving forward to sit in a plump armchair at the Professor's invitation. He poured out two cups of tea, added milk and stirred in sugar.

She refused the offered biscuit tin, choosing instead to sip carefully at the scalding liquid before swallowing thickly, and speaking.

"It's about my mother, Sir."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

**You've got to feel sorry for them. The bullies, I mean. You know, even I want to beat the living crp out of Peers, and I invented the guy.**

**A/N: Ah…the joys of brotherly bonding. For anyone who is wondering, the little rhyme near the end of Lucy's letter is a quote from the baptism ceremony at my church.**

**During the war, many forms of insanity appeared. The suffering of the soldiers will never be forgotten, but sometimes we lose sight of the pain of the people left behind.**

**The dead were not the only people who died in the war.**

**R E V I E W. **

**Or I'll…um…set the chibi Minotaurs on you! **


	7. Severity

**A/N: Okay. I clued up on my punishment systems in 1940 boarding schools, and for what crimes they were committed for. I figured, as a first offence, Edmund hasn't quite earned himself a caning. **

**Yet. (Evil smirk)**

**Disclaimer: Narnia belongs solely to CS Lewis, and I sincerely hope he will not mind me borrowing his characters for a slight variation (cough cough) on his story. **

**Warnings: Nothing really. As ever, a little blood spilt.**

**Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.**

_This is Peter_

_**This is Edmund**_

Mistaken Perception

Part One: Late Arrivals

**_Chapter six: Severity_**

"Right. All three of you, against that wall. Straight backs, no slouching there! Hop to it!"

Henley barked out orders as though he faced an entire class, not three wary boys. Peter and Edmund shared a glance as they stood next to each other, Peers moving to stand several feet away.

Edmund and Peers scowled at each other.

Henley had retreated to the cupboard at the end of the hall, where all the PE supplies were kept. He produced a massive ring of keys, and huffed as he leant down to slip it into the lock.

"You gonna cry, Pevensie?"

Peers hissed, though his eyes betrayed the fact he was as uncertain as they were.

"No."

Peter and Edmund replied, simultaneously. They had survived worse, much worse, than anything this teacher could inflict upon them. Fighting on the borders of Narnia, there had been no laws, no morals.

That was assuming, of course, that Henley intended to remain legal.

Edmund couldn't resist swallowing thickly as Henley turned, and jogged back towards them, his arms filled with what looked like heavy lead weights with large, ringed handles.

He set two down in front of each of them. Edmund noted that his were quite a bit less substantial than Peter's, and frowned. Leniency, indeed. What were they supposed to do with them?

Henley stood straight, retrieving a large, gold pocket watch from his coat. He grinned smugly at all of them in turn, rubbing his hands together in glee.

"Alrighty, then, boys. Y'all each take one weight to one hand, unless you want to use your foot."

He chuckled at his own joke (if it could be designated such) and Edmund glanced uncertainly at Peter before wrapping a hand around the handles of each. He heaved upwards, and gasped as he struggled to lift them.

Henley grinned a yellow, gap toothed grin.

"Heavy, no? Hold em out in front of you; arms straight."

Edmund heard Peers groan in protest as they all did so, the weight pulling down hard on his muscles. Within seconds he felt them begin to ache, a poisonous tingling rising up and down his arms.

"You hold them like that for three minutes. You drop them, you start over. Till you're done. GO!"

He blew his whistle, though it was hardly necessary, and watched as they all struggled to keep the weights upright. Peter seemed to be doing the best, his arms remaining straight, although they shook violently.

Edmund felt his own arms begin to falter, and he bit down on his lip, hard. It felt like the very bone was splintering under the weight.

He adjusted his grip, his palms growing sweaty. Just when he felt he could take no more, he nearly dropped them as a clear voice rang in his head.

_Ed? Can you hear me?_

Peter's voice. Edmund frowned, recalling a time in Narnia when, in situations of great peril, he thought he had heard his brother's very thoughts. He turned his head, the pain temporarily forgotten.

_No, don't look at me. You do hear, though?_

Edmund raised an eyebrow.

_**Of course. I'm not deaf, you know.**_

_Technically, Ed, you don't need your ears, so-_

**_Oh shut up, you. These weights are killing me…_**

_We've been through worse than this. Remember the Giants, on the border? In the early days?_

Edmund grinned, the ache in his arms dwindling away.

**_Oh, yeah. My toe never recovered from that club being dropped on my foot…hurt like hell._**

_Edmund! Lan-_

_**-guage. Yeah, yeah, I'm shutting up.**_

_Is it even possible to sigh exasperatedly inside your own head?_

The pain had almost completely vanished now. Edmund's grin widened, and he shot a glance Peter's way, noting the tiny hints of a small on his brother's face.

_**Probably not.**_

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Peers could feel his arms beginning to shake, the stinging sensation rather like a stitch. He swallowed and furrowed his brow, determined not to allow his arms to drop. He sneaked a scathing glance at Edmund, who appeared to be staring vaguely up at a far off window above, lost in thought.

His arms were perfectly steady.

Peers, astonished, looked to the elder Pevensie, who had the slightest hint of a smile quirking his lips, and was looking down at his feet with a knowing look in his eyes.

What was _with _these crazy brothers!

His palms were sweaty, and he could feel the handle of one of the weights slipping in his grip. He winced, and hefted it up with a grunt, but it slipped completely from his hand and fell to the ground with a heavy smash.

He placed his hands on his knees after dropping the second too, and bent over, panting hard. Neither of the other boys had flinched, but were blinking owlishly as though they had been shocked out of a dream.

Henley bounced gleefully over, looking to his watch with eager venom.

"Begin again, Jordan! No slacking, now!"

Peers groaned, and scowled as he picked the weights up again. He scowled at Edmund. It was all the kid's fault! He had had it all covered, the excuse, everything! Pevensie 'tripped and fell', that's all. No punishment, just a nasty knock to the head.

The ball slamming into his face was a painful reminder.

When he had first arrived, Peter Pevensie seemed the average victim. Not exactly scrawny, but slightly unsure of himself. He had stuck to verbal abuse, however, as Pevensie had appeared to have just enough humanity in him to be prone to hitting back.

He was…an unorthodox case.

He hadn't flinched at the name calling, the lies, the spread of rumours. Even whenPeers and the boys had closed in around him, he had only raised an eyebrow and continued on his way.

But he had found a weakness in the end.

It cost him dearly.

Pevensie had been a special case. Baby faced, golden haired, innocent, irresistibly vulnerable. But it had been tough, tougher than he had expected, to break him. Turned out the best way to get to the tender hearted, is to aim for the heart.

It had been harsh, even for him, to mention the father, the mother. After all, they were all in this war.

It was a throwaway comment, shouldn't have provoked such a reaction. A casual mention of the fact, that none of the boy's siblings looked anything like him, a subtle implication.

Next he knew, a fist had slammed into his face so hard he heard the very bones of his skull crack and splinter under the pressure. Pevensie's eyes had grown hard and cold, and strangely empty.

He had awoken in the hospital wing cursing.

It had turned to obsession. He had to break the boy, somehow. He needed power, strength over others. He could not simply leave Pevensie with the upper hand. He was desperate.

But what he did…even he wasn't sure it had been right.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

_**Peter, I'm not sure how much longer I can do this…**_

Peter inwardly winced, trying not to think about the pain in his own arms. He caught Edmund's eye, and tried desperately to convey some form of comfort to him.

_You can do it. Not much longer now, Ed…_

Edmund nodded resolutely, before there was a loud smash which made them both jump. Peter looked to Peers, who had dropped his weights and was now bent double over himself.

Peter felt a tiny twinge of sympathy.

He drew a deep breath, and glanced at the clock. Just a few more seconds. Fourteen…thirteen…

_**Peter! They're slipping!**_

Peter's head snapped around, to see Edmund with his eyes tightly closed, jaw clenched tight. A stab of panic lurched in his chest, as he watched a bead of sweat roll down his little brother's forehead.

He swallowed.

Edmund's fingers had begun to shake harder.

Peter abruptly let go of one of his own weights, just as Edmund couldn't hold on any longer and loosened his hold on his. Henley whirled about as both different weights crashed to the floor, and Peter cleared his throat loudly to direct attention away from his brother.

_Edmund, pick it back up. He's not looking._

Edmund shot him a shocked glance, but he did as he was told, eyes narrowing as he took in Henley marching over to make Peter start again.

_**You IDIOT, Peter. You bloody, bloody idiot.**_

Edmund had a sudden flash of seething inspiration.

"Wait, sir!"

He managed to grit out through clenched teeth, his time having expired. He carefully put his own weights down, as Henley tapped his foot impatiently.

"Let me take one of Peter's."

He shot his brother a 'no nonsense' look, and marched over to grab a weight up off the floor before either Henley or Peter could argue.

They continued the second round in uncomfortable silence.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Edmund scowled as Peter held two shaking arms to his chest, gasping as though he had just run a mile. He had barely managed to hold out the second time around, his own set of weights being considerably heavier than Edmund's.

Edmund studied the coarse welts across his brother's palms, and the reddening area upon his own, and frowned.

"Lets...try to avoid doing that again, yeah?"

He wheezed out, and Peter nodded, leaning against a nearby window ledge and glancing at his wrist watch.

It was nearing nine in the evening now, and neither had the strength to discuss what had passed. Peter bid Edmund a muttered goodnight before trudging back to his own dormitory, still cradling both his arms against his chest.

Once he was around the corner, Edmund made to follow, before a voice behind him make him freeze in his tracks.

"I don't know what the hell you and your nutcase brother are about, but it ain't normal."

Edmund clenched his spasming fists, and Peers laughed, his own arms now clasped behind his back to hide their tremble.

"You really think you stand a chance? I don't stand alone, you know. Think you can take all five of us out?"

If Edmund had not recalled his conversation with Peter that morning, he would have answered with a stubborn 'yes'. However, his brother's words made him stop to consider.

Peter was right. He had to be careful.

"Did ya see that bruise on ya brother's forehead? That ain't nothing. You just wait Pevensie, both you crackpots are gonna pay me back good."

Edmund thought feverishly, mind moving through all possibilities as he had done when confronted with a problem in Narnia. Five?

Those odds weren't looking too good.

"I heard ya brother has fits, sometimes. Seen one, I have. Probably my fault, too. Asthma or something?"

The evening shadows danced across the floor of the corridor, obscuring Peers' harsh features from view.

Peers lowered his voice to a soft, mocking whisper.

"Wouldn't it be a pity if…on a cold, Autumn morning…poor little Peter went to find his inhaler only to find it had mysteriously disappeared. And what if, straight after, he had a games lesson?"

Edmund's heart began to beat painfully fast, the blood roaring in his ears. It took months to get a new inhaler, nowadays, with the rationing.

"And what if, just suppose, somebody had the courtesy to trip him up again?"

Peers laughed harshly and easily sidestepped Edmund when he lunged, his face jeering, the bridge of his nose painfully crooked.

"What do you reckon? Do ya think it'll take long for him to suffocate?"

Edmund lashed out blindly, catching Peers across the neck, a sharp smacking sound resounding around the empty, silent building. Peers didn't flinch, but caught Edmund's still trembling arm in a painful grip.

He smiled.

"Alright, Pevensie. I'll make you a little deal. A wager, of sorts."

Edmund stared at him, their eyes boring into each other. He slowly drew away, stilling the quake in his arms as he stood as tall as his adolescent frame allowed.

"A wager?"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

_St Lewis Institution of Creative Arts, two years prior_

_Peers Jordan felt light headed, dizzy, intoxicated with a fearful horror mixed with ecstasy. He pushed the boy's shoulder down further into the lapping surface of the water, smiling maliciously._

_The hand on Peter Pevensie's head was now buried in golden hair, tossing to and fro in the eb of the water's current. The boy's clear blue eyes were clouded and wide with fear._

_Apparently, it was possible to drown in only six inches of water. Peers only had five, but it was enough. Curse the school governors, making the pond so shallow._

_His fingers itched as the boy beneath him grabbed desperately at Peers' hands, but he held him steady. He smiled as he saw Peter Pevensie's eyes begin to droop, his face turning a lurid, pale blue._

"_PEERS JORDAN! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE-dear Lord…"_

_Peers jerked back, and Pevensie came with him, drawing a shuddering breath before dispelling the entire contents of his stomach onto the grass beside the pond, retching violently._

_Peers' mind immediately went into overdrive, and he blurted out on impulse:_

"_T'wasn't my fault sir, we were just…he punched me, and I…I…"_

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

He had schooled his face into a look of innocent shock, trauma, and played the part well of a boy overcome in the throes of anger. Somehow, the look of such disgust in Pevensie's eyes had shaken him even more than the actual action had.

He hadn't…he wasn't thinking. He never actually meant to…you know. It was just to scare him, to break him, to force him to understand who was boss.

He had paid his price.

And now it was time for Pevensie, finally, after all his years, to return the debt he owed him. Two years, held back, in humiliation, outlawed by those who once stood beside him.

And Pevensie had said he _pitied _him.

He would pay.

And he would take his idiot brother down with him.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

**A/N: Dear oh dear. What proposition has Peers got for Edmund? And is Edmund silly enough to take it?**

**Does he even have a choice?**

**(Cowers) Kindly refrain from killing Peers. He still has to cause angsty mayhem, you know. Peers did not inflict any kind of sexual harm on Peter in the past, by the way, I do NOT write that sort of thing. **

**You may all think the punishment didn't seem very harsh. If you think this, I suggest you hold out your arm horizontally, and wait for three minutes. It's _agony. _And remember, Peter and Ed did this with weights.**

**Yeah, mega ouch.**

**Reviews, as ever are appreciated!**

**R E V I E W. **


	8. Choices

**A/N: Right. Angst. (Smiles) Isn't it strange that somehow, we like to see the characters we all love suffer? But oh well…who cares, really?**

**Canon characters: (hide)**

**Mrs Pevensie's ailment was inspired by events in the magicians nephew, when Digory's (is it his mother? I don't remember) lies ill in bed. **

**RANDOM point of interest: I've just ordered the Narnia video game on the basis of having seen the trailer, and it looks like it's got more brotherly bonding than the film does (weird). Peter actually goes himself to save Edmund from the witch's camp, and they attack the wolves by Peter picking Edmund bodily off the ground and chucking his brother at them! Unconventional, but hey, apparently it works…**

**I suggest y'all go watch the game trailer, because it is hilarious…**

**Disclaimer: Narnia belongs solely to CS Lewis, and I sincerely hope he will not mind me borrowing his characters for a slight variation (cough cough) on his story. **

**Warnings: Nothing really. As ever, a little blood spilt.**

**Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.**

_This is either letter or flashback_

Mistaken Perception

Part One: Late Arrivals

**_Chapter seven: Choices_**

"Very well, Mrs Pevensie. Thank you for your time."

Lucy stood rigidly, stiff backed but determined, on the bottom step of the stairway. Just around the corner, she could see the edge of the tweed jacket of the Professor. She stepped unsteadily forwards, before hurrying down the corridor to stand beside him.

He glanced down at her, a gentle, somewhat distracted smile crossing his face as he put a comforting hand on her shoulder. The large, oak panelled door swung open, and the doctor's retreating back appeared, a leather case hanging loosely in his hand.

He was an elderly, bespectacled man, with dimpled cheeks and a slightly chubby, pleasant face. His greying dust brown hair was speckled with white, and swept over his forehead to hide his receding hairline.

He shut the door and turned, a troubled frown upon his face. He started as he looked down at Lucy, and then smiled awkwardly, clasping her shoulder briefly.

"You alright there, young lady?"

Lucy nodded, keeping her face carefully neutral. She stood tall, fixing the doctor with a piercing stare.

The doctor, who was called Doctor Hardy, looked from Professor Kirke to Lucy, and fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief to wipe his shining forehead, before pushing his glasses up his nose and clearing his throat.

"Why don't you run along, little missy? We shan't be long."

Lucy's eyes narrowed, and she carefully folded her arms, portraying none of the indignance she felt. She gazed levelly, and spoke in a clear, softly controlled voice.

"With respect, Sir, she is my mother. I am not a child who needs a farce of protection from the truth. Kindly do not patronize me."

It was slightly harsh, but Lucy was in no mood for beating about the bush. She had promised Peter she would look out for their mother; and she intended to do so. Doctor Hardy started, and flushed, coughing slightly as he shifted uncomfortably.

"Right, very well, then…to business. Mrs Pevensie is…not in a stable state of mind. It appears she I suffering from grief induced reclusive trauma."

Lucy barely refrained from rolling her eyes, silently scolding herself. She was no longer the Queen of a realm; merely a child. The doctor was only trying to help.

"You mean she's in denial. Refuses to accept that he's…dead."

The Professor winced, and Lucy suppressed the stirring emotions within her mind. Her mother needed her, now. She had no choice but to become stronger. If she did not…there was no knowing what would become of them.

"That's rather a blunt way to put it, dear."

Lucy was about to snap a retort, when the Professor gave her shoulder a gentle, restraining squeeze. She sighed, and lowered her gaze to the doctor's case, thinking.

"What do you suggest as treatment, doctor?"

Doctor Hardy let out a long breath, and his brow furrowed further.

"There's not much I can do for her mind, I am afraid. It is a very common condition, especially nowadays. All we can do is hope she will see sense. However, I can suggest that you have a heart to heart with her, young miss. Have you any close family who you think she would listen to?"

Lucy silently nodded, but resolved to attempt to deal with the situation herself before bothering Peter. Perhaps she could write a letter? She had the school address in her diary up in the trunk in her room.

"Thank you for your advice, doctor. Is there any way to get her to eat more? And sleep properly?"

Helen Pevensie was wildly erratic in her demeanour. One minute, she was laughing lightly at some antic her daughter had accidentally committed. The next, she was weeping into her embroidery work, clawing at her face as if she wished to tear her verymask away.

When Lucy spoke of either her father or Peter, or begun to, she immediately grew angry and demanded she leave the room. Sometimes, she would speak for hours of her early days with her husband, how they met, their wedding, and the first few years before Peter was born.

Then, she skipped straight to Susan's birth. Then Edmund, then Lucy herself. Never Peter. As though she had written her eldest son off the page completely. Perhaps, subconsciously, she had.

"…help her sleep. And here, Miss. For your brother, he requested I give it to you and then you can pass it on to him."

Lucy jumped as a small jar of what looked like green leaves was pressed into her hand. She vaguely registered the small label on the side, which read:

**PETER PEVENSIE**

**(By prescription, nine leaves)**

Oh, of course. Peter's medicine. He must be running out. She glanced up, to see the Professor studying a bottle of pills which would apparently help her mother sleep.

Doctor Hardy was promptly shown out by the Professor, leaving Lucy standing quite still in the chill empty corridor. She reached for the handle of the door, eased it open with a high pitched groan, and slipped inside.

Her mother's bony, icy pale figure lay neatly on the bed, eyes closed and drawing long, thin, rattling breaths.

Lucy swallowed.

She hurried softly over to the writing desk, drew out a freshly pressed sheet of paper, and clenched her fist firmly about the smooth surface of the fountain pen.

She closed her eyes, drew a deep breath, and began to write.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Dear Peter (and Edmund),_

_I hope your both doing well at your school (and, I notice, too busy to write to me!) and are not getting too pompous while surrounded by the toffs. I don't want either of you coming back and asking to eat crumpets or something._

_This is just a small note; I would write more, but there is only a few hours left before I must go to bed and I've already re-written this hundreds of times. I am fine, the Professor is lovely and the weather is generally bright and sunny._

_But that's not why I'm writing; Mother is ill. Not literally sick, I don't think. She doesn't sleep or eat much, and is even thinner than when we left London. But the worst of it is, that…she has started asking me, every morning, whether word has come from father._

_The doctor, Doctor Hardy, says that she is suffering from 'grief induced reclusive trauma'. Basically, she has convinced herself that father isn't – you know. She speaks at length of the past, sometimes laughing, sometimes crying. _

_I don't know what to do. According to the Professor, all I can do is wait and hope, and keep trying every morning to get through to her. But I'm not sure how much longer I can smile and say 'no, Mummy, not today'. _

_Please. As soon as you have a holiday, please come. I'll send a little money I saved from my piggy bank for tickets on the train._

_Write back as soon as can._

_Lots of love,_

_Lucy_

_xxx_

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

_One week later, St Lewis Boarding School, the Dining Hall._

Peter tapped his fingers impatiently against the hard surface of the table, his half finished meal and plate stacked neatly to the side, having been pushed irritably away. He glanced up at the large clock on the wall above him, frowning.

This was the fifth day in a row Edmund had been late for lunch. Where on earth was he?

"Pevensie? Earth to Pevensie, do you read me, over?"

Peter's head snapped up to meet Cedric's disgruntled, freckled face and he raised an eyebrow in irritated question.

"What?"

He said rather brusquely, and Cedric stepped back, palms outwards in a gesture of peace. Peter sighed, and lowered his gaze.

"Sorry, Ced. Just been distracted, you know."

Cedric hoisted himself up onto the table, kicking his trainers off with a quick glance around for prowling teachers, and leant his head on his raised shoulder. He regarded Peter with a sceptical frown.

"Eddykins again? You really are a worrywart, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah. Right."

Peter stared distractedly out of the window, his fingers beginning their rhythmic tapping once more. He glanced to the door, half hoping to see Edmund rushing in. Where in the name of Aslan was he!

"Pevensie, are you even listening to me?"

"Mmmhmm."

Cedric's eyes narrowed, and a gleam of mischief welled. He leant down, and said, as casually as he could:

"Henley's decided to give up teaching and become a hermit."

Peter nodded distractedly, eyes clouded over with thought. Cedric grinned. He clearly was not listening to a word he said.

"That's nice."

"Hitler's said he's gonna resign from being totalitarian overlord of the universe."

"Uh huh."

"I think I'm in love with Peers Jordan."

"Eh-WHAT?"

Peter's head snapped up as his eyes widened, and Cedric laughed heartily, throwing his head back and grinning insanely as Peter crossed his arms and scowled indignantly.

"Oh, good, you were listening…I was kidding. Well, about Jordan. Dunno about Hitler or Henley."

Peter frowned, confused.

"Hitler and Henley? What-"

Cedric rolled his eyes and shrugged one shoulder, wondering at his friend's supposed intelligence. He shook his head and slid off thetable to sit beside Peter, resting his chin on his upturned palm.

"Never mind. Seriously, Pete, you need a break from all this fretting. You're gonna get wrinkles at this rate!"

Peter's lip quirked in annoyance, and he abruptly stood up, stiff backed, and looked once more to the door.

"Whatever. I think I'll go look for him."

Cedric grabbed his arm as he made to go, shaking his head.

"No need. He's coming right about-"

As if on cue, there was a loud slam as the back door swung open and a dark haired blur raced up the aisle, slamming into Peter's back and sending them bothtoppling into a nearby bench.

Cedric raised an eyebrow.

"Well…now."

Peter glared as he levered himself upwards, sending a scathing look to his younger brother, who was rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. Peter grabbed Edmund by the collar and dumped him unceremoniously onto the bench, then sat down beside him and fixed him with a piercing stare.

"And just where have you been?"

Cedric groaned, and smacked his forehead against the table, and was promptly ignored by both brothers' for the remainder of the conversation.

"God, Pete…mothering coddle overload, man."

Edmund's dark hair was in disarray, his cheeks slightly flushed, and he was out of breath. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, glancing up at the clock just as Peter had done.

"Sorry, Peter. There was a hold up in the main corridor. The pranksters rigged the chandelier to fall."

Peter sighed. Recently, over the last couple of days, odd things had begun to happen all over the school. It began innocently. A few aniseed balls scattered across the gym, people tripping over. The wickets on the cricket stumps had been glued together so nobody could score, and he had even heard a rumour that Henley's shampoo had been replaced with red paint, so no PE lessons had happened recently.

Then, the pranksters had grown bolder, more daring.

Suddenly, it wasn't funny anymore. In fact, it grew rather sinister. First years pushed down the stairs, sprained ankles. Mild poisons slipped into the food giving a whole class stomach ache, lockers almost falling on top of students. And now the chandelier.

"Nobody hurt, was there?"

Edmund shook his head, wiping the sweat from his forehead and hastily fixing his crooked tie.

"Luckily no, just a bit of a disturbance. Whole place was gridlocked…is there any food left? I'm starving."

Peter raised an eyebrow, and retrieved a shining plate stacked to the brim with an assortment of food. The canteen trolley had long since been packed away, so Peter had put a tea towel over it to keep it fresh. Edmund grinned, eyes shining, and grabbed his brother around the neck in a rather sudden, enthusiastic hug.

"I love my big brother!"

He proclaimed, before extracting himself from a somewhat disorientated Peter's shoulders and falling on the food ravenously, as though he hadn't eaten in days. Peter sighed, but secretly felt quite touched. Apparently there were upsides to saving your tardy little brother food.

Well, the way to Edmund's heart had always been through his stomach.

"_You _just love eating too much. You really think I'd let you go hungry? Once you've finished your mouthful, tell me all about the chandelier. I think Jordan and his cronies are behind all the trouble. I saw them lurking outside my room yesterday. They haven't given you any bother, have they?"

Edmund swallowed, and opened his mouth to answer, a curious expression on his face, but just then the bell rang its tinny whistle to signify the end of lunch. Peter huffed and turned away to gather his bag together as Edmund hurried to finish his plateful at top speed.

"C'mon, Ced. Latin next. Ed, I'll see you at eight as usual, okay? Don't choke on your food."

Peter ruffledEdmund's hair fondly, to thick protests between a mouthful of food from said brother, before heading for the east wing; satchel slapping against his thigh as he did so. Cedric grumbled under his breath, and rushed to catch up, a half eaten biscuit from Peter's discarded lunch clenched between his teeth.

Edmund watched them until they were out of sight, then breathed a sigh of relief. Talk about saved by the bell…

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Susan frowned as she neatly folded Lucy's letter, and slid it carefully back into its envelope. The news her sister had sent was very troubling. After all this, their mother, going utterly insane?

She leant her head against the cool window pane, closing eyes, trying to calm her emotions and organise her thoughts into some sort of order. She had a short weekend break in just a few days.

She reached for a pen, and tore a piece of paper from her notebook, which lay open on her bed. She had hoped her return to the Professors house would have been a joyful affair, if indeed, she ever returned there at all.

She ruthlessly quashed any small inquisitions she may have had as to the possibilities which a return to the estate presented.

She had put all that behind her long ago.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

'_What do you say to a little game? You win, and we leave you and your brother alone. Lose, and you both pay me back in bruises, long term. Refuse, and I'll take my due short term.'_

Edmund stormed out of thehall doors and stopped dead as he slammed into someone. Catching himself just before he fell, he glared up at the three figures above him.

"You bastards! You agreed you wouldn't go near him!"

'_Of course, there are conditions. The dares, or tasks, can't last too long and must not be in lesson time. We take turns. You first, then me or one of the boys. First one to get caught in the act loses. Clear?'_

Peers smirked, shooting an amused smirk at Jay and Charlie, his two 'sidekicks'. Both all brawn, no brain, naturally. Having intelligent flunkies was never a good idea. Edmund, personally, could hardly tell the difference between them.

'_You stay away from Peter. You go anywhere near him, and deals off, and I swear to God I will find a way to kill you quietly.'_

"Careful, Eddy. Your brother wouldn't want to hear you swear like that. And we didn't lay a single fingernail on him, not that we would want to anyhow..."

Edmund's fists clenched, but he held his anger at bay, for now. They technically hadn't broken their word. Nothing had been said about going near Peter's room, after all.

'_Alright, fine. Are we all agreed, gentlemen?'_

Peers jerked his head, indicating for Edmund to follow him.

"I did the chandelier. Your turn. Come on, next dares gonna blow your _mind…_painfully."

'_Very well. Then let the games…begin!'_

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

**A/N: Toff means a posh person, by the by.**

**I think I'll dedicate this chapter to Shauna, because she actually plucked up the courage to post her fic, which is awesome! You go girl! **

**Oh yeah, if anyone was confused about the last chapter or this one, send me a Private message with specific queries and I'll get back to you (because I don't want to annoy Capegio...again )**

**Heigh ho, heigh ho, it's off to angst we go…**

**If ye would kindly giveth me a most well received review, ye will recieveth good karma.**

**!R E V I E W!**

**Please?**


	9. Damned be the Righteous

**A/N: (Sniffles) Ack, I can't wait until April 4th! I need Narnia inspiration NOW! Ahem, yes. I realise there hasn't been much fluff recently. Well fear not! The fluff cometh… **

**Yeah, so life is generally sh-t for me and I can hardly bear to move my fingers. But hell, whatever. The back of my wardrobe is still infuriatingly solid… **

**I write to you through a mouthful of Turkish delight! No lie! Ah…I feel so close to Edmund (it tastes vile, by the way…but sacrifices must be made) **

**Disclaimer: Narnia belongs solely to CS Lewis, and I sincerely hope he will not mind me borrowing his characters for a slight variation (cough cough) on his story. **

**Warnings: Nothing really. As ever, a little blood spilt. **

**Rating: PG13 American, 12 English. **

**MEMORISE THESE: **

_This is Peter _

**_This is Edmund _**

**This is assorted others **

Mistaken Perception

Part One: Late Arrivals

**_Chapter eight: Damned be the righteous _**

Due to Henley's recent sufferance (a prank, thought up by Edmund, whereby his feet were now glued to the inside of his trainers) all PE lessons were spent in dormitories, catching up on homework. Supposedly.

Peers, however, saw this as a perfect opportunity for a particularly nasty prank. So he, Jay, Charlie and Edmund now stood beside the caretakers shed, in the corner of the school playing field. It was a breezy, mild day, low black clouds slung over the deep bowl of the sky and the lightest spattering of rain.

But it meant nobody was about, so they were less likely to be caught. To Edmund, however, this was little consolation.

**_You have to do this, remember? If you don't, Peter- _**

Edmund winced at that, and cut off the trail of thought abruptly. Thinking of Peter was a rather painful experience, at the moment. Whenever his brother crossed his mind, he was immediately assaulted with either apprehensive fear or gnawing, terrible pangs of guilt.

He hated lying to Peter. Anyone else, even mother, or Susan, but not Peter. It just seemed so…wrong, to betray his brother's trust like that. Almost as though he was selling them out to the white witch all over again.

He gritted his teeth and scowled.

**_Do NOT start thinking down that way again. You need to concentrate. Besides, like you even have a choice… _**

Of course, speaking to yourself, especially within your own mind, is never a good sign.

"You ready, Pevensie?"

Edmund frowned, looking questioningly to Peers, who only smirked. Edmund felt again, as he had so many times over the past days, that poisonous sinking feeling. Whatever Peers had in mind, doubtless it was not going to be good for Edmund.

The groundkeeper's shed held all the supplies for keeping the school neat and tidy. God knows what was in there. Uncountable sharp and lethal implements, Edmund supposed. This was _definitely _not going to be good.

Peers nodded abruptly to Jay, who raised a chunky fist and slammed it into the door. It held fast. Charlie drew a large spanner from under his shirt, took careful aim, and brought it down with crushing force.

This time, the lock creaked, and then gave way completely. The wooden door swung open with a rusty, creaking screech.

Edmund swallowed thickly.

Peers hurried eagerly inside, eyes glinting maliciously as he eyed the many and varied tools with delirious glee. Edmund wrinkled his nose at the musty, earthy smell, and the stench of rotting wood. Jay and Charlie loitered outside, keeping watch.

Peers suddenly ducked down with a loud exclamation, and retrieved something large and sharp from beneath a pile of old punctured rugby balls. Edmund squinted in the half light, and his eyes widened once he saw what it was.

A hunter's trap. A twin set of large, perilously vicious iron teeth which fitted together to form a malicious grin, with a spring trap and large hinges on the underside. It was probably intended to ensnare a large rodent of some kind, but Edmund doubted that was what Peers had in mind.

Peers carefully placed a splint of wood on the quivering trigger, and it snapped shut so fast Peers dropped it with an awe filled gasp. Edmund simply stared in horror, at the two broken ends of the splint skidded across the floor with a soft hiss.

Peers leered at him from behind a curtain of lank dark hair, eyes gleaming.

"Just big enough to fit a little first year ankle in, I think. Too big for a teacher. Too bad, really."

Edmund tried not to think of a little, pale ankle being crushed under the weight of the thing, blood and shards of bone snapping like a dry twig. He swallowed as the bile rose in his throat, and his resolve hardened.

**_I mustn't do this. I can't. It's…wrong. _**

"You can't chicken out now, Pevsie. We had a deal."

_Snarls and the snapping of teeth. _

_A pair of slavering, fanged jaws closing around Peter's ankle, the sharp splinter of bone and the squelch of flesh. _

_Peter was flung away from Edmund, and he slammed into the ground with a bone jarring jolt, his head hitting the sharp edge of a boulder with a sickening smack._

Edmund shuddered at the memory, and knew he could not do this. It was just too cruel. Somebody could get seriously hurt in this, whatever it may be. This trap was designed to ensnare the victim until they perished from the overwhelming pain.

He shook his head slowly as Peers' face grew dark, and drew himself up before speaking in a quiet, but firm voice.

"I can't. It's…too cruel. Surely there's a compromise?"

Peers allowed the trap to fall to the ground with a clatter, and then leant against a nearby crate, eyebrow raised. He slowly nodded, a smirk curling his features.

"You know, maybe we could let this one go…just this once. But only on condition…"

Jay and Charlie entered the shed, standing on either side of Edmund, flanking him.

And also cutting off his escape.

"On condition that you pay an equal price for what the victim of the prank would pay. No permanent damage, mind. Just a little…knock about. In penance."

Edmund shrugged inwardly. So he'd take some (admittedly hard) hits. He had taken worse before, right? There was nothing Peers could do that would rival being stabbed in the gut by a sharp splinter of a wand.

**_It's a small price to pay. And also…Father wouldn't want some innocent little first year for suffer for my stupidity. Wouldn't want me to become as twisted as those I'm trying to fight. _**

He suppressed a shiver, and nodded mutely.

As the three boys surged suddenly forward, Edmund felt a strange sense of calm. He was doing what was right; what Father would want him to do. Sure, he might get a few bruises-

A sharp punch to his stomach sent him sprawling to his knees, but he kept the strangled cry of pain firmly within the confines of his mind. No need to humiliate himself further.

He wasn't weak.

_Edmund! _

Edmund's eyes, which had previously held nothing but stubborn determination, widened in sudden fear.

**_Oh no… _**

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Five minutes previously, the beginning of Latin Class A, the West Wing. _

"Bis repetita placent, class repeat."

Peter felt that he'd rather jump out the window and scream before he repeated the phrase for the hundredth time, but obediently muttered the response under his breath nonetheless.

"Bis repetita placent, Sir."

Peter idly blew a wayward strand of golden hair out of his eyes, watching with mild irritation as it slid straight back into place. He sighed, and glanced uneasily at the empty seat beside him.

Ralph Willings, who normally sat beside him in Latin, had still not returned from the hospital wing. There were rumours he had a broken ankle; a result of being on the receiving end of a prank.

"The reflexive verb, anyone? Pevensie, what about you?"

Peter frowned as he thought of Edmund. He had been acting rather…off, recently. Not himself. He was perfectly cheerful, but perhaps…too cheerful. Was something going on? Something other than…well…

"Pevensie? Are you listening?"

He really should be thankful. Edmund was doing fine, his marks perfectly average…but something was wrong. Terribly wrong. So out of place, it sent an uneasy chill creeping up and down his spine.

"PEVENSIE!"

Peter flinched violently, jerking upright and slamming the underside of his wrist against the desk. He winced, and muttered a hasty apology, ignoring the pain in his arm as the teacher, Mr Zerga, reprimanded him harshly.

But Peter wasn't really listening.

He was concentrating on something else entirely; a disconcerting, somewhat cold shadow looming in the recesses of his mind. It prickled, and stung, sending a sharp jolt of pain down his neck.

His breath hitched, and he clasped a hand to his aching neck, a similar searing sensation spreading throughout his entire body. Hazy, muffled voices began to sound, swirling around his head in a myriad of tones and pitches:

**_I mustn't…I can't…won't… _**

**You know…could…but only on condition- **

The voices mixed together, fading in and out of tone as Peter struggled to distinguish thought from speech, speaker from listener.

**_It's a small price to pay…and also…Father wouldn't want- _**

The half formed thought was harshly severed as a sudden stab of pain disrupted the trail, and a strangled cry echoed ominously within Peter's mind.

Without any further thought, the voices still whirling around, Peter leapt unsteadily to his feet, his chair falling back with a scrape and a slam before he tore out of the room. A single word filled his pounding head, drowning all other speculation:

_Edmund! _

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was painful.

But what could you expect? Besides, Edmund thought little of it. It seemed strangely…surreal. The beating down upon his back, the brief sharp stabs of pain across his torso.

_Edmund? Where are you! _

Peter mustn't find him; if he did, everything Edmund had sacrificed would be for nothing. He could not find him. He just couldn't. Edmund wouldn't allow it.

Edmund concentrated, flinching as a crushing kick was delivered to his shoulder, and brought a barrier slamming up across the warm, comforting bond that was Peter's presence. Immediately, it seemed as though the world had suddenly grown darker.

And colder.

He could feel his brother freeze in shock, then begin desperately pushing against the barrier, then slamming with all his strength, but Edmund held fast, allowing one last thought drift across his broken mind:

**_No, Peter. Not this time._**

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Peter skidded to a halt outside the gym, the hard tarmac beneath his soled feet making the situation feel all the more real. Feeling a surge of panic, he called out within his mind:

_Edmund? Where are you! _

He gasped as, after a few moments of turbulent silence, something slammed up across the link, blocking him from feeling anything from the other end. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, desperately reaching out.

There was a last few waves of emotion, swirling thoughts, then:

**_No, Peter. Not this time._**

Nothing. Silence.

Peter growled, silently cursing his brother, and set off at a sprint to where he had felt…drawn, somehow. The grounds. He didn't know how he knew, but he did. The grounds. The field…somewhere…near the edge…

He paused, hands on his knees, panting hard, and scowled.

_Think, Peter, think. The grounds, on the edge. Where could he be? _

And then it hit him.

The shed.

He knew immediately he was right, as he set off at a run again, forehead growing damp with sweat and his blazer seeming suddenly far too hot, and constricting. Had Peers gotten to Edmund after all?

Peter felt boiling anger fill his veins like liquid mercury, bitterly vicious.

He had reached the edge of the field now, the shed just a few metres away. He froze, splattered with mud all the way up to his knees, his socks damp, as he heard raised voices.

"What's with all the fuss about your Dad, huh? You and your brother probably don't even have the same one! You sure as hell don't look like it!"

The next few moments were strangely…hazy, to Peter.

Brief images flashed before his eyes, likes slides on a screen. Edmund, lying on the floor of a dark shed, shadowy figures towering over him.

The terrified, somehow blurred face of a boy Peter could only vaguely recall the name of, before a fist (his own?) flies out of nowhere and sends him reeling into the mud.

Something heavy and sticky in his hand; slams over the back of another head. Not hard, just enough to knock the consciousness away. Blurred figures, trickles of blood swirling languidly within the liquid earth.

"…Peter?"

A harsh, racking cough, and the moment is broken. Peter blinked as though waking from a dream, and suddenly, he's standing over two very shocked and cowering figures, his arm raised above his head.

He was holding a spanner.

It falls to the ground with a solid thump, and he turns, to see his brother leaning against the side of the shed, eyes wide with fear, clutching his stomach.

Peter could see the dark blemishes of bruises beneath his ripped school shirt.

Peter felt his throat constrict, and began to draw harsh, gasping breaths. For some reason, his eyes were stinging. The world blurs once more, and he slid to his knees as Edmund crawled over to him.

Peter began to tremble.

"You're…hurt…"

Peter rasped out, as his breathing grew shallower and faster, and he could feel the grip of panic and fear and the burning need for oxygen overwhelming him. Edmund smiled weakly, and coughed once more before replying.

"I'm…not fine. But I'll live. We're alright…aren't we?"

Peter nodded, trying to draw deeper breaths, his eyes locked on his brothers. He felt his heartbeat slowing back down, and he slumped in relief, still shaking, exhausted.

Before he let out a sharp cry, something hard impacting with the side of his skull.

The last thing he heard before he fell into impenetrable darkness was harsh, croaking laughter.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Peers managed to force a laugh, tremulous as it was, as he slammed the fallen spanner into the back of the elder Pevensie's head. He crumpled like a doll, slumping sideways, limp and listless.

Strangely, it was more out of defence than vicious intent. The look in Pevensie's eyes when he had taken out Jay and Charlie had been…haunting. Almost animalistic.

Desperate. Desolate.

Peers blinked as his eyes met those of the younger boy, Edmund, who was crouched, head bowed, beside his brother.

**How utterly pathetic. **

Peers, however, was forced to revise this assumption as Edmund slowly raised his head, dark hair covering half of his face. But what could bee seen of his eyes…

Dark,never endingblackness. An endless void of pure _hatred_.

**Stronger than I thought…powerful. Like something…not of this world… **

Was Peers' last coherent thought before Edmund pounced and two shaking, but nonetheless passionately fuelled hands closed mercilessly about his throat.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

**A/N: Lack of the girls in this chappy, but I felt it would break the pace. Next time, I promise! Things are starting to move along now, hmm? **

**Phew…it's a wonder Peter hasn't got brain damage, with all the knocks he's taken to his head. (Shakes own head) How could this possibly get any worse? **

**Peter: (sighs) Very easily, knowing you. **

**Me: (smiles) **

**Oh, yeah. For those who may be wondering, the whole BOND idea was spawned from this quote from 'Wunderkind', a song on the Narnia soundtrack: **

**'Our best back pocket secret, **

**Our bond full-blown' **

**R E V I E W **

**Please? Pretty please? Because I am on the edge of the void. The EDGE of the VOID, people. **

**(Coughs) Happy place, happy place, happy place… **

**Cifel: (worried) Um…yeah. Sorry about her… **


	10. What goes around…

**A/N: Hmm…lots of foreboding hints in this chapter! Keep your eyes firmly peeled…blink and you might just miss it!**

**Disclaimer: Narnia belongs solely to CS Lewis, and I sincerely hope he will not mind me borrowing his characters for a slight variation (cough cough) on his story. **

**Warnings: Nothing really. As ever, a little blood spilt.**

**Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.**

**MEMORISE THESE:**

_This is Peter_

_**This is Edmund**_

**This is assorted others**

Mistaken Perception

Part One: Late Arrivals

**_Chapter nine: What goes around…_**

Lucy fiddled with her toast, idly spreading the marmalade thinner and thinner across the butter. Normally, she would love the slightly bitter, but somehow sweet smell of citrus, but now it seemed almost sickening. She had no stomach for sweetness, when she felt so sour.

The Professor had been a darling, of course. He had religiously found her things to keep her occupied, played patiently with her, helped her with her studies. She even understood algebraic equations, to a certain level, now.

But still the burning tension lingered in the air; a dark shadow which enveloped the entire house, making even the cheerfully crackling hearth seem sinister. Lucy could hardly bear to even glance at the door to her mother's room whenever she passed, and only did so when she had to, in any case.

"Lucy, dear? A letter for you, from your sister."

Lucy's head snapped up, and she blinked, then snatched the creamy coloured envelope from the Professor with a hasty grateful exclamation. Mrs Macready tutted at such manners, at which Professor Kirke mildly frowned, but Lucy paid neither any heed as she feverishly began to read:

_Dear Lucy,_

_Upon receiving your letter, I immediately hurried to the Head mistress to secure my abrupt departure. I am still waiting for the proper documents to be in order, but I shall be on my way as soon as I possibly can._

_Do not worry about the money; I have a little savings hidden in my suitcase, which is more than enough. I am not sure how long I shall be able to stay, although I expect a few days would be the limit. Please, Lucy, don't blame yourself. Mother shall be fine. She is going through a rough patch; we all are._

_I'll be seeing you soon, really soon, Lu. Please hold on. Send a telegram, first class, if anything of further note crops up. I'll be there as soon as I can, I promise._

_Your loving sister,_

_Susan_

Lucy set the thin slip of paper down on the table and closed her eyes, her fist curling around the soft linen napkin enclosed there. Soon? How soon? Today, tomorrow?

Lucy glanced up as the Professor cleared his throat politely.

"If I may, my dear. I have spoken with your sister over the telephone just last night, and also with the Headmistress of the school. She has assured me that your sister shall set off early tomorrow morning. I have also managed to wheedle a week out of the lady, and-"

He was abruptly cut off as Lucy surged to her feet and hurried around the table, throwing her arm around his neck and giving him a grateful, tremulous hug. He smiled and cleared his throat gruffly, giving her an awkward pat on the back.

"There, there, child. We'll get your mother better, don't you worry. I have agreed to pick up your sister from the station tomorrow at noon. Would you like to come to greet her?"

Lucy drew away, flushing slightly at her temporary loss of composure, and silently berated herself. She murmured a thanks as he handed her his napkin, and she dabbed at her stinging eyes before replying.

"Only if mother seems…well, not normal…better than usual, I suppose. But thank you. Thank you so much, Sir."

He smiled gently as she blew her nose.

"You are very welcome. Now. What do you say to a game of scrabble? I find taxing ones mind is always the best remedy for strenuous times, especially over a fresh pot of tea."

Lucy managed a small smile, and took his hand as he led her to the library, where, hidden in a large, deceptively ornate chest, were an assortment of games and toys. Apparently the Professor, much like Lucy herself, was reluctant to let go of his memories.

The times gone by had passed; fleeting, and far too short in reflection. But there was no use looking back. They had to find a new way, a new future, together.

But no matter how they went about it, things would never be the same again.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Edmund could not even see straight; let alone think straight. The world seemed to spin on a steep axis as he lunged upwards towards Peers with surprising speed and agility.

Within moments his hands were fastened tightly around the other boy's neck, the beat of a racing pulse beneath his constricting fingers and the sticky slip of sweat and mud and blood making him feel sick.

But he pushed on, fuelled by his hatred, blinding by fear. He would not allow this to happen again; he had lost father. He would not lose Peter, too.

It was a simple line of logic, really. Kill or be killed, and avenge those who fall in the process. A code of war. No room for emotion, no time to think of the fact your enemy is human, too. Just another obstacle. Not real, not alive, not important.

Peers let out a strangled, animalistic cry as he threw Edmund's hands off him, and both boys fell to the ground, Peers panting and wheezing, Edmund trembling in stubborn silence.

The enormity of his decision washed over him, grating against him like a turbulent ocean against the coast.

_**I was…willing to kill him. I was going to…I'm…no better than he is…**_

No. This was all wrong, everything was wrong. He was not a killer. He…couldn't. He wouldn't. But hadn't he just…?

He suddenly felt violently nauseous, and rolled over onto his side, desperately curling in on himself. But it was no use. The powerful contortions pushed against him, and he vomited over the muddy, slightly blood spattered grass.

Through the convulsions, he vaguely saw Peers struggle to his feet, and simply watch as Edmund emptied the contents of his stomach. Edmund choked, and wiped his mouth, raising his eyes to meet the other's.

Although he trembled, he began to wonder whether it was from fear, panic, his ailment or his anger. Peers' lip, though bloodied and newly scabbed, curled unpleasantly and he managed to spit out one last proclamation:

"This isn't over, Edmund Pevensie. Just you wait. I'll be watching, and waiting for a single mistake. And when I find it, you better watch your back. And his."

He delivered a swift kick to Peter'slimp form, and Edmund lunged weakly, but only succeeded in smacking his shin against the grass and ending up sprawled beside his brother.

Peers eyes gleamed, and an almost delirious expression crossed his harsh features as he smiled with sadistic hunger down at them.

"Because I won't go down without a fight; even if it kills us all."

He ran, and Edmund knew with a leaden weight in his aching chest, that this now, truly, was war.

Kill or be killed.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The groundskeeper of St Lewis boarding school was aptly named William Wallowbury, but the student's affectionately christened him 'Wally'. It was not meant in any type of spite. Unlike most stereotypical caretakers, Wally was really quite docile.

He was elderly and balding, his curly, dust brown hair greying and speckled with white, but he was a kind soul. He was the sort of person who threw his all into any job he was given, and quite contented to simply plod through life, taking everything as it came.

Wally found a small sense of joy in every little job he accomplished; painting a fence, re-potting the plants in the teacher's lounge. It was a simple life, for a simple person, but Wally was not bothered by such things. As long as he could smell the fresh, clean dew upon the neatly mowed grass every morning, and walk quietly with a garden spade upon his shoulder, he was quite at ease.

He truly cared for the grounds, and the students of the school. Never having done well academically, he chose to try to make life easier for the pupils attending the school. Giving directions to any lost looking first year, helping to pick up the mess of papers which the older students often dropped.

It was inevitable; therefore, that the moment Wally rounded the bend to find four students sprawled across the disturbed mud of the field in what appeared to be quite serious disorientation, that he was somewhat shocked.

His spade fell to the floor and the cheerful whistle died on his lips as he quickly assessed the situation. Two of the boys, large and stocky, had now clambered to their feet and looked ready to bolt.

Wally noted their guilty expressions and frowned darkly.

These two were troublemakers; he recalled that much, at least. Little brain, but a wicked right hook, on both of them.

"You stay right there."

He cautioned them, before turning to the two who were still on the ground. He squatted down in the mud, his boots making unpleasant squelching noises, and eyed the two boys with a keen gaze.

One was kneeling half up, and appeared to be quite beaten. Dark bruises peeked through the tear in his shirt, and his blazer was covered in muck and dust. Any grazes covered his knees and arms, but the boy paid them no heed as he leant over the other, who seemed to be out cold.

Wally gripped the boy's shoulder gently, and he turned dark, frenzied eyes to look at him. Wally smiled reassuringly.

"What's your name, lad?"

"Edmund."

Came the hasty, raspy reply, and Wally noted how tightly the boy's hand gripped the shoulder of the boy on the ground. Close friend, most likely. It was often the case that those close to you got dragged into your problems. It was part of what formed a relationship.

"Well then, Edmund. Are you feeling alright? Not sickly or nothing?"

Edmund shook his dark head, and gestured down to the boy on the ground.

"No, I'm fine. My brother, though, he-"

The boy broke off and turned back to his brother, who Wally now glanced at to regard as well. He squinted, sure he recognised the golden hair and gentle features from somewhere.

He shifted forwards, ignoring the protests of his tiring muscles and the creaking of old bones, and laid a gentle hand against the gash on the side of the boy's head. Edmund jerked as if to stop him, but Wallace held up a hand, frowning.

It was not deep, and certainly not bad enough to result in concussion. The boy had simply been knocked out, and obtained some nasty bruising around the gash in the process. Wally frowned, noting the half healed scab of another bruise quite close to the boy's temple.

What had these kids been doing? This looked about a week old…

"Your brother, you say?"

"Yes."

"What's his name?"

There was a short pause.

"Peter."

Wally nodded, recalling where he had seen the boy before now. Peter…Peter Pevensie. Lovely kid, always stopped in the corridor to help him when he dropped his broom or needed an extra pair of hands to carry his heavy tools. Imagining him in a fight was almost…ridiculous.

Yet here he lay, unconscious. What had become of children nowadays?

"Will…will he be alright?"

Wally glanced up, hearing the slight break in the other boy's voice, and felt a stab of pity mixed with anger. He shot a glare at the two loitering boy's a few yards away, before smiling kindly at Edmund.

"Your brother is going to be just fine, Edmund. He just got a nasty knock, no terrible harm done. Let's see if we can get him up, aye?"

The boy nodded mutely, and leant over to peer concernedly into his brother's face.

"Peter? Can you hear me?"

Peter winced and let out a groan, and Wally carefully supported his head as the boy's eyes fluttered open, flinching as the sunlight stung his eyes. He helped the boy sit up, seeing no sign of concussion in the boy's sky blue eyes.

"Ed…? Wha? Oh…"

Peter winced as he put a hand to his obviously pounding forehead, and Wally helped him to sit properly upright and lean over a little, supporting him.

"You got a hankerchie', lad?"

Edmund nodded, and reached over to pull a white slip of material from his brother's pocket and hand it to him, and the elder boy held it gratefully to the still oozing gash on his forehead.

"Come on, boy. Up you get, that's it."

Wally, with the aid of Edmund, managed to get Peter to his feet, an arm slung about each of their shoulders. Wally shifted the boy's weight more onto his own arm, noting the prominent bruises on Edmund's torso.

"There we are. Now, you…"

He glared pointedly at Jay and Charlie, who now stood looking sullenly apprehensive.

"…will follow on. I'm taking you all to the hospital, and you stay there, mind. Once you're all fixed up we've got to find the truth in all of this."

He turned a serious, somewhat pitying gaze onto Edmund, who winced visibly as they began a long, slow march up to the main school.

"I'm afraid I'll have to fetch someone to sort this out."

They continued the rest of the journey in stony silence, and Wally began to wonder what the world was coming to. He was reassured, however, as he watched the younger of the two brothers' carefully help the elder along, an anxious, concerned frown on his face. The elder, meanwhile, kept attempting to smile comfortingly through a grimace of pain.

In spite of all their injuries, they still looked only to each other.

Now that was really something.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mr Havisham, Head teacher of St Lewis boarding school, stared down at the small letter his secretary had passed him for verification. This was…a rather unorthodox situation to say the least.

_Peter and Edmund Pevensie_

_St Lewis Boarding School_

_Harley Drive_

_West Hartfordshire_

He shrugged, and sighed deeply as he slit the envelope idly open. It was a requirement that he read all mail which was delivered, if it was of significance. Quite what was so important about a little girl's letter to her brother's was beyond him.

He unfolded the letter, and his face contorted into a frown, which deepened as he read through the content of the letter;

_Dear Peter (and Edmund),_

_I hope your both doing well at your school (and, I notice, too busy to write to me!) and are not getting too pompous while surrounded by the toffs. I don't want either of you coming back and asking to eat crumpets or something._

_This is just a small note; I would write more, but there is only a few hours left before I must go to bed and I've already re-written this hundreds of times. I am fine, the Professor is lovely and the weather is generally bright and sunny._

_But that's not why I'm writing; Mother is ill. Not literally sick, I don't think. She doesn't sleep or eat much, and is even thinner than when we left London. But the worst of it is, that…she has started asking me, every morning, whether word has come from father._

_The doctor, Doctor Hardy, says that she is suffering from 'grief induced reclusive trauma'. Basically, she has convinced herself that father isn't – you know. She speaks at length of the past, sometimes laughing, sometimes crying. _

_I don't know what to do. According to the Professor, all I can do is wait and hope, and keep trying every morning to get through to her. But I'm not sure how much longer I can smile and say 'no, Mummy, not today'. _

_Please. As soon as you have a holiday, please come. I'll send a little money I saved from my piggy bank for tickets on the train._

_Write back as soon as can._

_Lots of love,_

_Lucy_

_xxx_

Mr Havisham carefully re-folded the letter, slipped it back in the envelope and smartly rang the bell upon his desk for his secretary. She poked her head around the door, glasses slipping from the end of her nose.

"Miss Whitely! Would you kindly send for Peter and Edmund Pevensie to come and see me as soon as possible, please? It's quite urgent."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

**WARNING: Intense angsty fluff in next chapter! You are forewarned…**

**I know, I know. Wally was random.**

**A/N: There is a reason why Peers is the way he is, of course. I'm not so shallow as to just not justify his disposition. Never fear, dear readers, we shall discover his motives in the near future…**

**My God…Skandar Keynes is almost officially as tall as William Moseley…be AFRAID, people. Be very afraid.**

**One reviewer did NOT KNOW what was happening on 4th April! (Cries) Oh, the pain, it burns!**

**(Sing song) Oh, you know you want to review! You know you really, really, really really do! **

**R E V I E W…or else! Nah, not really. Pretty please?**


	11. …comes around

**A/N: My God it's snowing! Woo! It never snows over here! Okay, I'm done. The snow is on the ground, Turkish delight in my lap, and I am feeling in a Narnia-ish mood!**

**Disclaimer: Narnia belongs solely to CS Lewis, and I sincerely hope he will not mind me borrowing his characters for a slight variation (cough cough) on his story. **

**Warnings: Nothing really. As ever, a little blood spilt.**

**Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.**

_This is Peter_

_**This is Edmund**_

Mistaken Perception

Part One: Late Arrivals

**_Chapter ten: …comes around_**

The Nurse hovered uncertainly as Edmund helped ease his brother onto a nearby bed, only releasing him when he was sure Peter was stable. Groundskeeper Wally muttered in low tones to the shaken woman, but Edmund did not bother to listen.

He determinedly forced the pain in his torso to the back of his mind. Leaning down, he placed a hand under Peter's chin and gently tilted his brother's head up, peering acutely into Peter's eyes. They seemed clear enough, and were only slightly sluggish in their focus.

Peter frowned at being manhandled so, and clasped Edmund's hand, forcing his little brother to look at him.

"Edmund? What…happened?"

Edmund did not reply, but sat himself down beside his brother and carefully pried Peter's protective hand away from the gash on his forehead. Peter hissed in pain, and Edmund felt a surge of anger which he quickly suppressed.

_**It's my fault. If I…no.**_

He could attend to his own grievances later.

"Ed?"

Edmund brushed the sticky hair away from Peter's forehead and frowned, noting the half-healed gash from the previous week. Dark bruising had formed around the crusted scab, but luckily Peter's fringe hid the worst of the damage.

"Ed!"

Edmund drew a long breath and moved his hand away, allowing Peter's hair to fall back over the injury. He reluctantly met his brother's gaze, feeling the overpowering grip of guilt consume him as he saw the pain and confusion swirling in the other's eyes.

"What _happened?_"

Edmund thought carefully while giving his brother a once over, checking for any other injuries. He seemed alright, apart from a few grazes here and there. He blinked, suddenly realising that they were both practically covered in mud from the waist down.

The glistening white linen sheets were now marred with dark stains.

"He hit you. With a spanner."

He said quietly, matter-of-factly. A thought suddenly occurred to him, and he cursed, stumbling to his feet and turning to address the nurse.

"Nurse! Have you got antiseptic? And some cloths, or bandages?"

Nurse Cathy blinked, poised halfway through biting the stubby ends of her nails. She grimaced and shuddered as she looked at Edmund's stomach, and hurriedly turned tail and headed for the cupboard at the end of the ward.

Edmund felt a hand on his shoulder, and flinched violently, bring up a hand to swing around and collide with the offending arm.

Peter, not expecting such a response, let out a hitched gasp and jumped back, slamming into the iron bedstead. His feet gave way as a hand clutched his head, while the other reached blindly out for the bedpost.

"Peter!"

Edmund knelt beside him, concerned, as Peter slid to the floor, face now buried in a shaking hand. Edmund stifled a groan of agony as his stomach protested, but he managed to keep his voice steady as he spoke.

"Peter, you blockhead. Don't…creep up on me like that. You've got to sit still; your balance is way off."

He had meant to apologise, but he felt that if he allowed himself to think through what he had just done…Peter glanced up groggily, ghostly pale and squinting, finding it hard to focus.

"S'nothing. Just a dizzy spell, s'all."

He mumbled, and Edmund scowled as he grabbed his brother's arm and hoisted him once more onto the bed, with rather more force than was necessary. He wasn't angry, not with Peter.

"Why…why did you hi-I mean, lash out?"

Edmund shivered convulsively, as the ringing end of the broken, corrected sentence echoed around his mind:

'_Why did you hit me?'_

Al he ever did was cause Peter more pain. Always hurt, never a moments peace. Pathetic. Failure was all he was ever good for.

His thoughts were broken as Peter let out a harsh gasp, and suddenly there were cold hands on his shirt, probing the bruising there. Edmund hissed and clapped a hand to his stomach, wrapping his arms around it as Peter's clouded eyes widened and cleared with horror.

"Edmund, you're-"

Edmund could only shiver and swallow his guilt, as Peter's face grew even paler and his eyes became overwhelmed with desperate concern and shock. Then, all of sudden, they darkened and Peter's worried face contorted into that of rage.

Somehow, it seemed more sinister when he bore it than when someone truly evil did. A contradiction to his very nature, Edmund supposed, made it far more frightening and unnatural.

"I'm going to _kill-"_

Edmund could not bear to hear that. No more killing, no more pain. And especially not from Peter. He pushed his brother's hands away and sat beside him, a hand going to Peter's neck.

The reassuring beat of a steady pulse beneath it grounded his sense of reality. He took a breath, and allowed his hand to slip to his brother's shoulder as Peter frowned at him in confusion, eyes flitting to Edmund's injuries.

"You're going to _nothing. _You're going to sit still and let me help you."

Anger reared in Peter's china blue gaze, this time directed at Edmund, and Edmund felt his heart jolt violently. He couldn't _stand _it when Peter looked at him like that.

It was so alike to the look of disappointment which their father had often used to reprimand him.

No. Not father. Father was _dead. _Gone. But Peter was still here, still very much alive and breathing right beside him.

Edmund would not lose Peter too. He _couldn't._

"You expect me to just sit back while you're injured, too? You want me to let you coddle me, when you won't ever let _me _help _you?_"

Peter's face emanated some contorted form of desperate longing, begging Edmund silently to let him in. And Edmund realised, quite suddenly and terribly, that he had completely and literally pushed Peter away.

And that frightened him far more than bullies, or any formidable foe ever could. He swallowed thickly, and nodded, managing to gaze levelly into his brother's face.

"Alright. But after you, you're worse off than I am. And we'll deal with _him _later, alright? Together."

"Lads?"

They were jolted out of their reverie as Wally clunked noisily over to stand beside them, a sympathetic smile on his pleasantly wrinkled face.

"The two other fellows have been sent of to be questioned. When you feel up to it, they'd like to hear from you, too."

He clapped a gnarled hand down upon Edmund's shoulder, and Edmund managed a small, grateful smile.

"You'll be alright then now, hmm? Take care of yourselves. And each other, o'course."

Peter and Edmund exchanged a small, knowing smile, and called out a thanks in unison as the elderly groundskeeper hobbled out of the ward. The Nurse came bustling up the aisle between the beds, a bottle of colourless antiseptic and a large wad of clean white cloth balanced precariously upon an open palm.

"Since you don't appear to need my services, I shall get on. Call if you need anything."

Peter and Edmund watched in surprise as she dumped the medical supplies down on the bed, and huffed, marching back out of the ward. Peter chuckled after a moment, and Edmund raised an eyebrow in question.

"She doesn't like blood."

He explained, grinning a little stiffly. Edmund stared incredulously at him, and Peter shrugged.

"Then why in the name of Aslan did she become a nurse!"

Peter shook his head, then groaned, reaching out to clasp Edmund's shirt to steady him as swayed dangerously. Edmund sighed, and supported his brother as he snatched up the bottle of antiseptic and tore the top off with his teeth, wincing at the bitter taste.

He let go of his brother and carefully tipped a small amount of the translucent liquid onto the clean linen cloth, reaching out to gently cup his brother's cheek and tilt it upwards.

Neither said anything as he frowned, and meticulously began to clean it. Nor did either meet the other's gaze, and an uneasy chill descended upon the ward as dusk began to settle over the grounds beyond the frosted window pane.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Susan thanked the porter, who tipped his cap and winked. She rolled her eyes, tugged self-consciously at her skirt and sighed. Glancing around the platform, she could see nothing but smoke and mist as the train chugged away.

Only once it had turned the bend could she see well enough to tell that the platform was deserted. She felt strangely…out of place. Last time she had been here, she had been with all three of her siblings.

The platform had rung with laughter, Edmund chasing Lucy up and down the platform because she had stolen his toothbrush with thundering feet and loud shrieks. It hadn't seemed quite as lonely, rural as the station was.

Now, however…

A light breeze swirled about her, lifting her skirts and tossing her hair across her face. She let out a long, suffering breath and walked slowly towards the steps leading down to the road, then carefully sat down on the top step, tucking her skirts neatly beneath her as she did so.

It was so surreal, to be coming back.

The distant rumble and clunk of an approaching engine made her glance up, and she stared as a small, forest green mobile jerked to an unstable halt right in front of her.

She rose to her feet, unable to withhold a smile as the Professor climbed out of the car and came over to shake her warmly by the hand. They exchanged polite pleasantries, which were promptly interrupted as Lucy came careening out of the backdoor of the car.

"_Finally!_ What took you so long?"

Lucy exclaimed, but the effect was lost as she flung her arms joyfully around her sister's waist. Susan raised an eyebrow, amused.

"Well, it's nice to see you too, Lu."

Lucy drew back, her smile fading, and turned to the Professor.

"Can't we get along, Sir?"

He chuckled stiffly, a grim expression clouding his features. Susan frowned, and shifted her heavy suitcase from one hand to the other as she observed their uncomfortable behaviour.

"Why the hurry?"

She asked, slightly afraid of the answer. The Professor held he door open and ushered them both into the car, before answering as he slid into the driver's seat.

"Most unfortunately, I am afraid to say, but…your mother has taken a turn for the worse…"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The ward was deathly silent now. If so much as the head of a pin had dropped, it would have sounded quite clearly across the whitewashed walls. It felt very strange to Peter, who felt as though he was locked in a gilded, glistening white cage. Nothing but endless blank, white walls and furniture.

The bed still hadn't stopped spinning. He was going to get seasick if this kept up, it was ridiculous!

Edmund tipped the bottle of antiseptic over a small, linen cloth, and waited for it to soak in before placing it on the bedside table. He then turned to his brother, still averting his eyes.

"Hold still. This is going to sting a little."

He said quietly, and then placed a surprisingly gentle hand on Peter's cheek, brushing the hair back before carefully applying pressure to the wound with the cloth.

Peter closed his eyes tightly shut as the liquid seeped through the cut, stinging and making the whole left side of his face feel cold, but he refused to hiss in pain. God knows, Edmund must think he was pathetic enough already…

It was strangely calming, as Edmund began to very meticulously clean any dirt from the wound. It began to bleed again, but Edmund ignored it, catching the blood in another spare cloth. Peter did not miss his shudder, however.

He gingerly opened his eyes as his brother's gentle touch seemed to almost will away the pain. After a while, it seemed like his head felt clearer, the world less blurred. He blinked in surprise as the hurt on his temple dulled, until it was almost numbed.

He raised his eyes to look at Edmund, who was frowning in concentration, and for the briefest, maddest of moments saw his mother. He blinked, and it had passed. He had never really thought about it, but…Edmund did resemble her remarkably. He felt almost as though he was a child again; biting down on his quivering lip and wincing as she dabbed at his grazed knees.

Except it was Edmund, not her, who cared for him now. She could hardly bear to even look at him.

Peter felt a lump rise in his throat, and ducked his head as his eyes stung. Edmund's soothing motions ceased, and a lulling pause disturbed the calm.

"Peter?"

It was so cruel; so terribly, horribly cruel. Why was he condemned by his father's failure? Why could nobody reach beyond his father's face to see _him? _He was not father. He was not as strong, not as brave…

"What is it?"

Edmund sat beside him, laying the cloth aside, and Peter peeked down at him through a curtain of now damp golden hair. He swallowed, and licked his dry lips before saying quietly:

"Edmund…Dad told me to _protect _you, and I…"

Edmund said nothing, and Peter dared not look him in the eye. He gazed down at his own clasped hands, which had begun to shake.

"And I haven't…I can't…I…"

His voice hitched, and suddenly, Edmund had leant forwards in one fluid movement and engulfed him an almost painfully tight embrace. His little brother pressed his cheek to Peter's, and whispered brokenly in his ear.

"No. Don't. Don't say it."

But Peter couldn't hold back, couldn't pretend for a moment longer. And all his hurt, all his pent up, barricaded grief simply spilled out of him in a rush of broken speech.

"I'm sorry…I'm…so…sorry…sorry I'm not good enough, sorry I'm not-"

Edmund hushed him, and Peter closed his mouth abruptly, trying desperately not to shake. Edmund simply held him tighter, and after a moment, spoke again.

"I know you're not, Peter. I know. It's alright, I…understand. You're my brother. And I will _always _love you for that."

He drew carefully away, and framed Peter's face with his hands, his eyes clear and serious and somehow so alike to their father's, despite the mismatched colour.

"Not for being Dad. For being _you. _You understand?"

Peter stared at him, and swallowed hard, then slowly nodded.

Edmund let him go, and wordlessly handed him the wad of bandages, reaching down to lift his shirt up to reveal the mass of bruising spread across his stomach and chest.

Peter said nothing, as the anger racked his frame with tremors, and he tended to his brother in silence. In return for Peter's lack of comment concerning the extent of the injuries, Edmund quietly accepted the hot tears which were periodically scrubbed viciously away from his brother's face with a shaking hand.

It was all wrong. So horribly, terribly wrong.

And Peter, for once, could not see the way to make it right.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Dammit, I'm all emotionally involved now...(blows nose violently)**

**A/N: PHEW…was it satisfactory? I think I'll do the next angst fluff scene from Peter's POV! I've been neglecting his side of the story, but as he's been oblivious to most of what's going on, it would have been kind of hard to tell it from his POV…**

**Oh! If anyone wants to see a HILARIOUS interview with the two boys, you can find it riiiiiight here (without the gaps):**

**http // www . cbsnews . com / stories / 2005 / 12 / 16 / earlyshow / leisure / celebspot / main1132093 . shtml**

**Review! Or…or…um…uh…(glowers)**


	12. Rusty tracks and Broken trails

**A/N: ACK! Sorry this took so long…I've been ill, you see. I just couldn't bring myself to sit down and write. The results would have been terrible, anyhow…**

**Hmmm…I've only just realised just how many different ways the story could go from here. I'm not even sure if the two supposed 'halves' of this story will be of equal length…it looks like the Narnian section might end up being either a lot longer, or a lot shorter…**

**GUH!**

**Well, anyway…soldiering on, soldiering on…**

**Disclaimer: Narnia belongs solely to CS Lewis, and I sincerely hope he will not mind me borrowing his characters for a slight variation (cough cough) on his story. **

**Warnings: Nothing really. As ever, a little blood spilt.**

**Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.**

_This is Peter_

_**This is Edmund**_

Mistaken Perception

Part One: Late Arrivals

**_Chapter eleven: Rusty tracks and broken trails_**

Following the news that the two boy's which he had sent for were currently in the hospital wing sporting injuries, Mr Havisham had been obliged to walk the short distance and meet them himself. He briefly wondered whether the pair simply attracted trouble. It certainly seemed so.

He had received a letter, from an elderly gentlemen named Mr D. Kirke. Apparently, he had been in correspondence with these two boy's family. Father recently dead in the war, just returned from evacuation. Mother going insane with grief.

Terrible business. Truly regrettable, but alas, such were the ways of war.

And now, this. Reports that these two brothers had been getting into a wealth of trouble. Whether by accident or on purpose, it was suspicious. The eldest's file, which he had flicked through upon receiving word from their sister, spoke of nothing but praise. Good natured, hard working, high achiever. Never been in a spot of bother apart from a small incident about two years ago.

It was not…encouraging.

Ever since the younger brother had come to the school, the elder had become…rather less docile. Running out of class without explanation, getting involved with school fights, no less. It was not a healthy atmosphere; no, not at all.

Something had to be done about this.

The two brothers' were causing untamed destruction. Was it possible the incidents involving the pranks had something to do with them? It was entirely probable. There was also the possibility, considering their mother's condition…

That just might be it…

Struck with inspiration, Havisham turned a sharp left corner away from the hospital wing and instead hurried down the hallway to the office of the Head of philosophy and psychology.

There was no harm in checking; no harm at all.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Peter and Edmund Pevensie, I presume?"

The voice was quiet, and Peter froze momentarily, fingers fumbling with the bandage in his hand. He glanced up, and met narrowed, steely grey eyes of the Head master himself, Mr Havisham.

If he hadn't already been so occupied with Edmund, he might have been worried.

As it was, he merely acknowledged the man's presence with an inclination of his head and a muttered 'Sir', before he turned back to tending to Edmund.

Edmund, looking over the top of his brother's head, saw the man's gaze grow narrower with indignant affront. Clearly such a supposed 'important' person did not like being shrugged off by what he thought was an inferior.

Edmund very much wanted to grab the man by his collar and demand he apologise to the High King. Even if they had been in Narnia, Edmund would probably have done so to someone for looking at his _brother _in such a way, let alone the High King.

_Nobody _had the right to disrespect Peter. **_Nobody._**

Mr Havisham puffed out his chest importantly and cleared his throat imperiously. Edmund gritted his teeth and barely restrained himself from slapping the arrogant prick around the face.

Havisham, seeing that Peter had no intention of sitting still like a good boy, resolved to let the matter slip, for now. Instead he addressed the younger boy, who was at least looking at him, even if his face was set in a scowl.

"I hear you've been involved in a…disturbance, of sorts. But firstly, I must speak to you about another matter."

Peter carefully tightened the loose ends of the bandage, and glanced questioningly up at Edmund, who nodded with a grateful quirk of his lips. Peter sighed and pulled his brother's shirt back down, the bruising now smothered in a healing salve and wrapped in snug bandages.

He would never be a great healer, but it was good enough. He shifted around until he was facing the headmaster, and clasped his hands in his lap, face patiently curious.

Havisham rocked back and forth on the heels of his feet, the light tapping sound making Peter wrinkle his nose in disdain.

Havisham noticed the boy's strangely mature, and quite infuriating behaviour. Almost patronising. A superiority complex, perhaps? And the younger…some sadistic problem, maybe? Mr Bennett had said he showed signs of violent intent from the information he had gathered.

Well, it was quite understandable. Such tragedy, and in such a short period of time…and at least neither seemed to be completely unstable.

"Yes, as I was saying. We have received a letter from an acquaintance of yours."

He held out the neatly folded letter, and for a moment, neither boy could do anything but stare. After a moment, the elder reached out and pulled it from Havisham's hand, placing it in his lap before beginning to unfold it. Havisham watched with curiosity as the younger leant over his brother's shoulder, his dark head resting almost against the crook of the elder's neck, tilted to the side.

Edmund curled his arms around Peter's chest, subconsciously steadying him. Peter was still a bit dizzy from the injury, and reading was probably not the best thing he could be doing right now. He glanced up as Peter opened the letter, and briefly met the Head master's eye.

His frown deepened at the look in the man's eyes, and he automatically tightened his hold around Peter. Peter, however, paid neither any notice as he began to read. Edmund leant further over and did the same.

Havisham watched in somewhat morbid fascination as their expressions turned from mild interest to shock. He noted how the younger seemed to clench the elder's shoulders convulsively, and the elder's hands began to tremble.

Peter stared at the small line of crosses his sister had scrawled, and felt a numb sense of disembodiment. The floor continued to sway dangerously from side to side, and the letters on the page seemed to scramble together, their meaning lost in the chaos.

Edmund, noticing the dangerous signs, quickly took the letter from Peter's hands and frowned, suppressing his own feelings in light of Peter's suffering. He simply registered the facts, refusing to allow himself to delve deeper into their meaning. And what it could mean, for all of them. Now and in the future.

He glanced up and addressed the Headmaster.

"Do we have leave to go?"

Mr Havisham nodded, retrieving a thin, leather bound diary from his pocket and consulting it.

"Yes, for approximately three days at the most. I am afraid we cannot give you any more time than that, government regulations. Your sister sent some money for the journey costs, and there is a train leaving at about seven in the morning."

Edmund nodded mutely, hand tightening around Peter's shoulder. Peter refused to look up at him, and Edmund knew he was thinking, hard.

Mr Havisham cleared his throat.

"You may pack anything you need for the stay immediately. Of course, we must speak of the recent incident and possible punishment upon your return."

He turned on his heel with no more than a brusque nod their way, and the brother's jumped as the ward doors creaked and swung on rusty hinges. For several long minutes, the ward was silent once again, as they simply sat side by side, huddled together.

Abruptly, Peter's quiet, emotionless voice broke the silence.

"It just never stops, does it?"

Edmund could not think of a suitable response to that; at least, not without acknowledging that slowly, but surely, the world was turning against them.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Wash kit…flannel, soap, toothbrush…am I forgetting something? Ah, yes…"

Lucy could not resist rolling her eyes as her sister bustled about, unpacking the small suitcase she had brought with her. Susan meticulously placed each item in its proper place, muttering to herself all the while.

It was such a…normal, contrite way to behave. As if nothing was wrong, nothing had…changed. But that was the way Susan dealt with the pressures of life. Ignore the problem, forget the pain, move on.

Lucy wished she could be so…well…grounded about these things. But then again, she didn't. Somehow, she even pitied Susan for her ways, which was cruel, in a strange way.

Lucy would never forget; she felt it would spite the very essence of her being to simply pretend it never happened. No matter how much pain it caused her; she would not forget.

"Something the matter, Lu?"

Lucy shook her head, knowing it was pointless to attempt to break the subject. Susan could barely remember that Narnia even had a name, for goodness sake. She'd probably just think Lucy was going off her nut, too.

Like mother.

"Peter and Edmund sent a telegram, by the way. They'll be here tomorrow afternoon."

Lucy nodded vaguely, feeling relief, and yet, some dread. She did not know how mother would react to seeing her children again. Several times, she had looked at Lucy and squinted, as though she barely recognised her.

That had hurt. Brutally.

If, as Lucy suspected, her mother had erased Peter from her mind…blanked him out, she should say…or at least tried to forget…what would happen when she was confronted with the solid proof he existed? Would she be angry? Afraid?

How would Peter feel? Would _he _be angry?

Lucy shuddered, feeling a sudden leaden sense of guilt. This was a bad idea. She should never have bothered the boy's in the first place. Dragging them all the way out here, just because _she _was too weak to deal with the situation.

It was pathetic.

"Lucy? Goodness, what is the matter with you today?"

Lucy blinked as she found Susan's concerned face mere inches from her own, and she drew back, shaking her head. It was like an invisible barrier had been drawn up, between them. Like the Susan before her was not even her sister.

This Susan was…aloof. Modern, and proper. The perfect, law abiding, upstanding young lady. But it was not the Susan she had grown up with; not the Susan she loved. No. that Susan had been left behind, in the wardrobe. In Narnia.

Lucy wondered, if they could only get back, if they could find her again…

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

_The next day, six o clock, Harley Railway Station, West Hartfordshire._

Peter breathed out slowly, sending a spiralling swirl of moist, morning mist up towards the tiled roof. It was stillsemi-dark, the early morning light crisp, and yet dull. Dew had settled over the station platform, forming small puddles here and there.

It was cold. White clouds hung low above them, speckled with light grey here and there. The early morning chill was fresh and really quite invigorating. In truth, he felt more alive than he had done in weeks.

They had woken very early that morning, having packed their bags late the night before. Edmund had promptly fallen asleep over his suitcase, still half open on the bed, and Peter hadn't had the heart to wake him. He, however, had stayed up late into the early hours, thinking.

Edmund had never been a morning person. He had barely been able to stumble down the lane to the station, especially with a suitcase under one arm. But they had made it, and in good time. They had been waiting for fifteen minutes now.

Edmund had almost immediately fallen asleep again, as soon as they sat down on the bench. Eyes half lidded, he had shuffled across the bench to huddle next to Peter. Without invitation, he had settled himself against this brother, head on Peter's shoulder, sighed deeply and closed his eyes.

He hadn't moved or made a sound since. Peter wondered whether he was simply pretended so they wouldn't have to plough their way through awkward conversation.

It all seemed so surreal. Father gone, just like that. Mother slipping away, inch by perilous inch. Just how bad was it? Would she even recognise them? He snorted. Well, for him, at least, perhaps it would be better if she didn't.

At least they were getting away from the school, and…Peers. Peter could at least be thankful for that. Perhaps it would have all calmed down by the time they got back. He could hope, anyway.

He sighed, and flexed the palm of his free hand with a wince. They still ached from the punishment a week ago, and coarse red welts had appeared where he gripped the handles of the weights.

Edmund mumbled something in his sleep, and turned his head into Peter's neck, his breath tickling his neck. Edmund was so warm; so why did Peter feel so cold? This feeling of emptiness. It was something…unfathomable. Sinisterly elusive.

There was the far off sound of a whistle, the soft clunk of wheels on a rusty track,and Peter jostled his shoulder, reaching up a hand to gently shake Edmund. His brother moaned, and blearily opened a single eye, peering reprovingly up at Peter.

"Mmm…wha' is it, Pe-"

He broke off, stifling a wide yawn, rubbing at his eyes as he sat slowly up.

"-ter?"

Peter managed a small smile as he got up, wincing as his back protested and his hands stung with the weight of the suitcases.

"Train's here. C'mon."

They hurried over to the edge of the platform as the train slowed to a halt, and a cheerful, freckled, bespectacled face smudged with soot poked its head out of the driver's window, grinning.

"Y'all there is, sonny's?"

Peter nodded, smiling gratefully as the man hopped out of the engine to open the door to the first carriage. He grabbed their cases and jerked a head at the door, and they stepped inside, feeling the blazing warmth of the coal fire in the steam engine seep into their damp clothes.

The man helped them load their cases in the metal meshes above the seats and waited until they had sat down before retrieving a small, shiny ticket machine with a flourish.

"I'm Johnny. I'm the conductor, which makes me more important than you, little matey's. Where ya goin'?"

"Llangollen Station, please."

Johnny wrinkled his soot smudged nose and shrugged, rolling off two slips of paper from the machine with a series of whirrs and mechanical clicks before handing them to Peter.

"That dingy place? Well, alrigh' then. That'll be thruppence, if ya please, young man."

Peter handed the money to him, and sat down on the seat opposite Edmund nearest the window, gazing out at the misty haze which obscured the world beyond the platform from view.

It was going to rain soon.

"If ya need anyfing, lads, jus' holler. I'll be up front with the driver."

After Johnny had disappeared, Edmund got up and carefully slid the compartment door shut behind him, pausing for a moment to glance warily at Peter, who said nothing.

Each knew the other was neither angry, nor upset with them. And it wasn't even really that they felt they couldn't talk to each other. It was something that ran deeper, far deeper than the boundaries of simple companionship ever could.

They understood, somehow, that the quiet contemplation which had settled over them was not of their consent. It was the natural course of mourning. For whom, however, was the dispute.

For their Father, or for their Mother?

Edmund, unable to hold his peace any longer, swallowed thickly and licked his dry lips before turning pained dark eyes upon his elder brother.

"Do you think she'll be alright?"

He asked, quietly, as though too much sound would break the spell. Peter pinched the bridge of his nose in an uncharacteristic mimic of Henry Pevensie, and pushed the more rebellious strands of golden hair out of his eyes before replying.

"I don't know, Ed. I just…don't know."

And he didn't. He didn't know what to do, didn't know what to say. Not anymore. And with that sobering thought, he leant back against the seat, slumping against the window, and let his pained sky blue eyes slip shut.

Soon, the soft pitter patter of rain beginning to splatter against the window, coupled with the jolting, rhythmic sway of the carriage beneath him lulled him into an uneasy slumber.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

**I've been neglecting insight into the character's thoughts recently, so I thought I'd have a chapter of reflections.**

**A/N: I figured it would be stupid to put Lucy's letter in AGAIN, so simply go back and read a previous chapter if you forgot what was in it.**

**What shall Mrs Pevensie's reaction be to her children, I hear you wonder. Will she even recognise them? Ignore them? You'll have to wait and see!**

**Apologies again for taking so long, but blame the bacteria. It's their fault! They made me throw up, and it's kinda hard to type while simultaneously upchucking in the loo.**

**Ok, too much information there…**

**Has anybody worked out the significance of 'Mistaken Perception' (as in the title) yet? I hope not!**

**You WANT to review. You WANT to review. You WANT to review. You WANT to review. You WANT to review. You WANT to review. **

**(swirly hypnotic eyes) R E V I E W**


	13. Identity Crisis

**I couldn't just leave you guys hanging there! So I got my act together and hurriedly fitted this in, in my sleep time. I nearly got caught by my Mum twice!**

**A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Shauna, who after a devastatingly violent scrap a couple of nights ago (nobody got hurt, I swear!) managed to guess some events in this chapter (and I squished info out of her!) so, Shauna my devious friend, this one's for you! Enjoy!**

**And to all my other FANTASTIC reviewers, keep it up! I wouldn't be able to carry on without you guys and your support…a massive thanks!**

**(Cries) I love you all…**

**Disclaimer: Narnia belongs solely to CS Lewis, and I sincerely hope he will not mind me borrowing his characters for a slight variation (cough cough) on his story. **

**Warnings: Nothing really. As ever, a little blood spilt.**

**Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.**

_This is Peter_

_**This is Edmund**_

Mistaken Perception

Part One: Late Arrivals

**_Chapter twelve: Identity crisis_**

Edmund knew this track well by now. They were getting closer, to the station. Very close. They need only go under the next bridge, around the bend, and they would be there.

He felt a jolt in the pit of his stomach which had nothing to do with travel sickness.

Quietly, he gathered their various discarded things from around the compartment, assembling the two suitcases and coats in a neat pile which would have made Susan proud. They had about two minutes, now.

He sighed, and carefully lowered himself down to sit next to Peter, mindful of his injuries. He couldn't help but smile, though. Peter was just so…well…sweet, when he slept.

Edmund's eyes widened in shock.

"Did I just think the word _sweet?_ My **_God…_**"

He muttered to himself, but his smile did not waver, nonetheless. On impulse, he reached over and brushed the soft golden strands out of Peter's face, tutting softly as they fell straight back over his ear.

Peter's lips quirked upwards slightly, and he shifted, leaning over until his shoulder touched Edmund's. He frowned in his sleep, shifted once more, then settled himself against his brother's side, head on Edmund's shoulder, and sighed contentedly.

Edmund blinked in surprise, and then smiled sadly. Peter would never seek comfort; save in his dreams.

Edmund rested a hand on the back of Peter's head, and idly began to play with his brother's hair. It was getting quite long, actually. There hadn't been much time to get a haircut before the school term started, so both of them now had fringes which fell to the ends of their noses. Edmund's own hair had begun to curl up at the ends, like Susan's.

He had always been jealous of Peter's hair. Not just because it was such a striking colour, but because it was Dad's hair. He rested a hand against Peter's neck, remembering blurred memories of his own little chubby hands batting at a large face. He had always played with father's hair, as a baby.

Oh, how he wished he was still here. They needed him so. All of them.

But there was no hope in wishing. Miracles didn't happen, and they were no longer in Narnia. There were no forces of good magic, which turned back death. Father was dead.

He had gone.

But he was still here, at least a little. Peter wasn't father. But Peter was father's son. And that meant that Peter was a part of father, just like father was a part of Peter.

A part that had been lost, now.

It also meant, incidentally, that Peter was his brother. What did it mean, to have the same blood flowing within each other's veins? Was it more of the deep magic? Was there some complexity which ran deeper even than love?

Edmund didn't know.

There was a jolt as they rounded the bend, and Edmund gave Peter's shoulder a gentle shake. He frowned as he noticed the dark smudges hidden beneath a fan of golden lashes, which now fluttered slowly open. Had Peter slept last night?

He must have fallen asleep himself.

Idiot.

He helped Peter sit up as his brother rubbed at his eyes vigorously, and shook his head to shake off the last clouds of sleep from his mind. Just then, the compartment door slid open and Johnny's round, cheerful face peeked in.

"Here we are, mates! Ya want help wit' ya luggage?"

"Yes, please."

Edmund stood up and helped the conductor to carry the various forms of baggage off the train, before hurrying back to help Peter, who was still quite drowsy. Johnny smiled as Edmund half dragged, but practically carried Peter off the train.

"Last bit of baggage, eh lad?"

He said with a toothy grin. Edmund smiled back, but shook his head, shifting one arm around Peter's waist to steady him.

"Oh, no. He's my brother."

"Same thing, sometimes. Not always, though. You take care of yourselves, laddy's! Bon voyage!"

He clambered back onto the small set of steep railings up to the engine, and swung his hat from his head in a graceful arc as the train pulled away. He was soon lost in a swirling mass of steam as the train rounded the bend.

Peter brushed his hair away from his face and smiled tiredly at Edmund, who gave his brother a comforting squeeze. They each took up a suitcase, and walked arm in arm down the platform towards the stairs.

Strange how, even as you strive to forget the past, you end up walking along its well trodden path regardless. Perhaps, there is simply no escape.

You have to face it; sooner or later.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"How are Peter and Ed getting here, Sir?"

Lucy asked, shovelling down her egg and toast soldiers with enthusiasm. In truth, it was the first proper meal she had eaten in days. She just…hadn't had the appetite for it. Now Susan was here, though, and Peter and Edmund on their way…she was feeling rather hungry.

"I wasn't sure when their train arrived, so they suggested they walked it. They should be here…oh, in about thirty minutes. Mrs Macready!"

Lucy grinned through a mouthful of toast as the Professor quizzed Mrs Macready on the arrangements for the children's stay. He seemed so eager, almost like a little child. He must be lonely, living by himself all the time in such a big house.

There was a distant rapping sound on the front doors, and Mrs Macready frowned, and whirled about to answer it, muttering:

"Who on earth could that be? And at this unholy hour, well-"

There was the sound of the door swinging open, the light scuffle of footsteps, a series of thumps and muffled voices. Lucy frowned.

"…a little early, train came sooner than we expected…"

And Lucy was out of her chair before you could say 'jiminy cricket'.

There was a muffled yelp from somewhere above her as she bowled one of her brother's over. Edmund, she presumed, from the darker clothing her head was now buried in. Professor Kirke laughed as she raised her head to smile innocently at Edmund, who glared at her reproachfully, trying not to grin.

Susan hurried in to see what all the commotion was about, and raised an eyebrow at the sprawled, undignified mess which were her two younger siblings. Susan shook her head with a gentle smile, and watched as Edmund laughed and tickled Lucy, who squealed in delight.

Susan realised she could not stall any longer, and carefully raised her gaze to meet Peter's.

Father was _dead._

She managed to tug a smile onto her face as she moved to him and kissed him lightly on the cheek, and those eyes lowered, downcast. Disappointed. Hurt. She realised she had not hid her shudder as well as she could have done.

"Peter!"

Lucy squealed, untangling herself abruptly from Edmund to throw herself at Peter instead. Edmund grumbled gruffly under his breath as Susan laughed and hurried over to help him up, pulling him into a brief embrace once he was on his feet.

Peter managed a smile, but it did not reach his eyes. He clutched Lucy close to him, but felt a quiet sorrow settle over his heart. He felt…nothing. No relief, only the smallest stab of hurt which blossomed and spread, casting an ever lengthening shadow.

He felt as though he was bleeding inside; but instead of shedding blood, he was shedding tears. Tears which would never see the light of day.

He must bear his own hurt alone; or break in the attempt.

That was what Father would have wanted him to do.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Edmund downed the scalding tea hastily in one long swig, and set the cup aside, frowning down at the chess board. Susan raised an eyebrow in challenge, sitting back to watch him struggle.

Well, at least he hadn't been assigned to unpacking like Peter had…on the other hand, it was probably less humiliating than getting thrashed by Susan for the umpteenth time.

He sighed exasperatedly and shook his head, moving a pawn carefully forward into a relatively safe square. He glanced up at the clock, ignoring Susan, who smugly knocked his pawn off the board with her knight.

"And I win again."

Edmund turned back to the board, studied his position, and then slumped in defeat. Susan smiled triumphantly, gathering the pieces together in a neat pile and tipping them carefully back into their box.

"It was close, that time."

Edmund said defensively, though with little conviction. Susan rolled her eyes and got up to place the folded board back in the drawer.

"Edmund, you've never beaten me at chess. Ever."

Edmund frowned.

"I did once, in Narnia! You remember, you got slightly tipsy at the eventide ball, and-"

Susan slammed the drawer shut with a resounding bang, paused, and then turned to look at Edmund with a slightly confused, annoyed expression.

"I'll go see if Mother is awake."

She said stiffly, before marching out of the room slightly faster than she should have. Edmund glanced again at the clock, sighed deeply, and hopped out of the armchair and heading towards the old servant's stairs.

He would help Peter with the last of the unpacking; besides, he couldn't stand the thought of sitting and brooding, thinking too deeply. Especially alone.

He vaguely wondered if it was abnormal to miss Peter, having only been apart from him for a few hours…

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Boy's? Your mother is awake. Your sisters are waiting."

Peter covered the jolt of anxiety in the pit of his stomach with a soft sigh as Edmund abruptly dropped the stack of clothes he had been carrying. He helped his brother gather them all together again, trying to stop his hands from shaking.

He couldn't do this; not anymore.

The revulsion in their eyes…tore at his heart like a thousand, scalding needles. Just one more stab of hurt…and he felt sure he would break.

Not yet, though. Not yet.

He and Edmund walked down the corridors in stony, uncomfortable silence. Almost like a funeral parade, marching in reverence for the dead. Who were they mourning, though? Who was truly dead?

Peter wished he was dead.

…no.

He couldn't.

Susan and Lucy stood quietly, stiff backed and tight lipped, outside the panelled door. Edmund clutched at Peter's arm, his fingers cutting off his circulation and making his whole limb feel numb.

Good.

He didn't want to feel anymore.

Lucy was the first to move

This was supposed to be a happy reunion. The family, together again. But they'd never be truly whole; not ever again. They were breaking. All of them.

Falling apart piece by painful piece.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Helen Pevensie smiled dreamily as he stared up at the wonderfully blank ceiling. Blank, but clean, and white, and pleasant to look at. It was just as well; she spent a lot of time looking at it, nowadays.

It was somehow easier than looking out the window. For out of the window, a world continued on its way. Unknowing, unseeing, unfeeling. A world without-

Oh, what a lovely vase of flowers that was!

Had she thought that before? Oh well. It certainly was lovely. A deep, light coloured china blue. Now she came to think of it, it was really rather like-

Like-

Like the sky, that was it. Yes. Like the open, wide blue bowl of the sky. Oh, but she was bored! Lucy had said she was coming back in a few hours! It seemed like days ago now. But it was hard to tell. She easily lost track of time…

Lucy said she was bringing the others.

Her little ones.

Our little ones, she corrected herself. Henry and hers.

Susan, Lucy, and Edmund. And…yes, and Edmund. She had missed them so. Susan was growing up so fast, and Edmund was turning into such a handsome young man. Just like his father!

Just…like his father…

There was a knock on the door, and it slowly swung open to reveal Lucy's nervously smiling face. Helen beamed, and clapped her hands together in joy before reaching out for her youngest.

"Lucy, darling! And where are the others?"

Lucy hugged her mother briefly about the neck, and Helen noted how stiff her posture was. Her frown left her, however, as Susan moved into the room, smiling.

"Susan, oh, my dear! Look at you!"

She gave her eldest a light kiss on the cheek and held her by the shoulders as Susan sat down beside her on the bed. Helen looked her up and down and smiled proudly.

"Come _on _Peter."

Helen felt confusion mixed with joy as she heard the voice of her son from outside the room. Who was he with? Were their other guests here? She hadn't been told of any…

"I'll…be there. In a minute. Just got to…go to the bathroom."

Peter?

Who was-

The question was immediately forgotten as her son poked his head around the door, and the smile that split her face seemed almost too big for it. She opened her arms wide, and Edmund hesitated, before going to her. She held him close, pressing a light kiss to his hair.

Oh, if only Henry were here to see this….

But he was away, in the war.

But he would be back.

Oh yes, he would back. Soon, very soon. Perhaps even tomorrow.

Yes.

Edmund drew away, and Helen chucked him lightly under the chin, to which he groaned and emitted a half hearted 'Mum!'. She laughed, and pulled him close again, as Lucy bounced over the mattress to join them.

Susan frowned, and muttered something about changing the water for the wilting flowers in the china blue vase. She took it up from the dresser, and left, smiling encouragingly over her shoulder as she did so.

Helen frowned. How…odd. Susan was awkward sometimes, yes. But it just seemed…strange.

Besides, the flowers really weren't that bad.

Just then, the door swung slowly open, and Helen opened her mouth and looked up, expecting to see Susan.

It wasn't Susan…

It was…

_Him._

"_Henry!_ You're back!"

The joy that filled her heart was stifled. But why? Henry was home, this was a miracle!

But…there was…something wrong…

"Isn't it wonderful, my darlings? Daddy's home!"

_No._

_This was far from wonderful._

Her children's faces had fallen in wild disbelief. The room around her had begun to spin dangerously, the colours growing darker, fading. She kept her gaze fixed upon her husband's eyes.

"But why on earth didn't you send word ahead, Henry? I was so worried! But wait…oh, you said it would be a surprise, of course, I forgot!"

She laughed joyfully, but still her children did not smile. Edmund slid away from her, shaking his head, a desolate fear filling his gaze. Helen stared, confused.

"Eddy? What's the matter, darling? It's Daddy! Daddy's home!"

Helen turned to Henry, whose expression was strangely blank. Emotionless, and cold. His eyes were…dead, somehow. His face pale. So terribly pale.

Lucy drew away from her, as Helen held out her arms with a slightly uncertain smile.

"Henry? Please…"

She swallowed dryly.

"…hold me? For a moment?"

Henry stood quite still. Utter silence filled the room. Then, very slowly, he moved forward, and jerkily wrapped his arms around her. She rested her head against his shoulder, her arms around his too thin shoulders.

No.

Slender, not thin.

Like a boy's.

Like a child's.

Not a man.

She knew, somehow, it would be wrong to kiss him.

But why?

This was…Henry…

…Henry…

Too quickly, he sharply moved away, wrenching himself suddenly from her hold. She gasped, her breath hitching in her throat, confusion overwhelming her already swirling thoughts.

She watched, horrified, as a single tear teetered, then spilled, falling painstakingly slowly down from china blue eyes.

And then he had gone; torn out of the room as though the devil himself were on his heel.

Helen vaguely heard her son's voice, Edmund's voice, calling a foreign name which meaning was lost to her….and then she was falling.

Falling away.

And after that, Helen Pevensie knew no more.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

**(Blubbing like a baby)**

**A/N: Helen has practically wiped Peter from her memory. I suppose it made some sort of twisted sense to her, subconsciously. Peter is like a living reminder of what she lost, so it probably hurt less to simply forget him.**

**Seeing parallels to the prequel, hmm?**

**Helen's POV is rather strange, but she IS insane, and I wanted the style of writing to reflect that. Did it work? What do you think?**

**I think y'all are right…Peter really does need a good slap. But who on earth could bring themselves to actually do it?**

**Edmund: (whistles innocently)**

**Yeah, next chapter is gonna be MEGA ANGST. I was thinking of getting a little Peter and Lucy interaction in; after all, I have been making both them and Ed suffer rather a lot!**

**Hell, they all are suffering a lot…**

**Cifel: Altogether now: R E V I E W! Oh, and hello to all you guys who said hi in the last few reviews! (waves)**


	14. Harsh Realities

**A/N: GOD this took me ages to write...possibly one of the hardest things I've ever had to get from my mind onto the page. I hope it came out alright! It's mostly angst, so next chapter should be a fluff overload! Enjoy!**

**And to all myCOMPLETELY AND UTTERLY BOWL ME OVER AMAZINGINGLY INCREDIBLEreviewers...I LOVE YOU ALL! I cannot express how grateful I am for all your encouragement and support. You people rock!**

**Disclaimer: Narnia belongs solely to CS Lewis, and I sincerely hope he will not mind me borrowing his characters for a slight variation (cough cough) on his story. **

**Warnings: Nothing really. As ever, a little blood spilt.**

**Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.**

_This is Peter_

**_This is emphasised Peter, then Edmund_**

**This is Aslan, then Henry**

Mistaken Perception

Part One: Late Arrivals

**_Chapter thirteen: Harsh realities_**

Peter barely felt the impact of his feet upon the varnished wood; didn't wince as his shoulder caught on doorways and his arm snagged against sharp corners. He was running. So hard, so fast. Faster than he had ever run before in his life.

_Don't scream._

He felt light headed and strangely sluggish, as though he viewed everything through a frosted pane of glass. It seemed to take an age for his mind to scream at his body to move, before it actually did so.

_Don't scream._

His foot caught on the curled edge of a coarse rug, and he stumbled, landing on his right knee with a resounding slam. The impact forced the air out of his lungs, and he froze, quite still, as his leg stung and his breathing sped up.

_Don't scream._

A single traitorous tear, cool against his burning cheek, slid down into his mouth, and he felt suddenly sick. Blood roared in his ears, every pulsating beat of his heart sending a torrent of chaos reeling about his head.

He couldn't breath.

_Don't scream._

He wanted to die.

_Don't scream._

Did it truly matter if he drew another breath?

He clasped the sharp edge of a wooden dresser beside him, and hauled himself upwards with a tremulous heave. He had to get away. Had to run. Just keep running.

_Don't scream._

He stood, hunched over on bent and shaky legs, and his stomach churned. He wrapped his arms around himself, beginning to shudder and shake violently. He couldn't breath. He couldn't think.

He drew in a gasping breath as his burning need for oxygen overwhelmed him, and felt an immediate chill of relief, mixed with…disappointment. A gathering well of fear filled the pit of stomach.

Had he…just…?

He unfolded himself slowly, rising to stand tall, long strands of damp golden hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, forming a disjointed curtain before his vision.

He turned his head to the side, as rain began to lash against the window pane, its frenzied beat crying out a desperate warning.

Peter Pevensie, china blue eyes wide with fear, gazed back at him from within the depths of a looking glass. His face was deathly pale, his cheeks flushed.

He moved jerkily forward, and reached out a shaking hand to hover, just beside the cool surface of the mirror. Peter Pevensie mimicked his movement, reaching out for him.

His father was inside.

Father's eyes, father's face, father's hair. These eyes with which he saw were not his own. The face which shone in the depths was his father's.

_I am nothing. _

_I am nothing… but a shadow of you._

And Peter screamed.

He screamed with every fibre of his being, his hand lashing out to catch the mirror and send it crashing to the floor, where it shattered into a million ugly pieces. A shower of tiny fragments rose up and fell in a light patter against the bare floorboards.

Silence.

Peter stood still and shook in the quiet; the broken shell upon the floor lay serenely in a mismatched pattern, the cracks between the pieces forming a spun web across the once smooth surface.

Peter fell to his knees, the tiny shards digging into his bare skin, but he hardly felt the pain. He leant carefully over, leaning on a single palm which stung fiercely. He reached out the other hand to clasp the largest piece, a long, cruelly edged one with a pointed tip.

He sat back, his hair falling down to hide his face as he stared into swirling depths of deep, sky blue.

'**And to the clear, Northern Sky, I give you King Peter, the magnificent.'**

_Look at the magnificent one now._

He closed his eyes, bowing his head as his hand tightened around the shard. It dug into his palm, becoming embedded in the soft flesh. His eyes snapped open, and he watched in fascination as crimson blood welled and spilled across the shining surface.

_Father is dead._

_So I must be dead, too._

He wasn't.

But God, how he wanted to be. And yet he couldn't. Wouldn't. His mother, Susan, Lucy, and Edmund…

…_can see only **him.**_

_Not you._

_But **him.**_

Peter felt a cold chill settle over him, as he tipped his palm and allowed the blood marred shard to fall to the ground with a clatter. He could hear running footsteps, far off voices.

They were close now.

He had to get away.

**I'll lend you the strength to carry on.**

**I'll always be with you…**

**Always…**

"But you're not…I'm…alone…"

The whisper left unwilling lips, and searing proclamation echoing around the empty room. Peter took a shaky step forwards, a deep cold sweeping throughout his trembling figure.

"Always alone…"

And he broke into a run, following the well beaten path to the only true solace he had ever known. A cloudy, lingering silence had descended over him, suffocating, enveloping him in a shroud of sorrow.

_It's so quiet._

_And cold._

_So cold._

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

_**Bloody, bloody, bloody HELL.**_

Edmund tore out of the room mere moments after Peter had done so, and whipped his head frantically up and down the corridor, eyes narrowing as he caught sight of a flash of blue turning the corner.

"PETER!"

He swore silently as he pushed his limbs into a frenzied pursuit. How could this have happened? How could she do this? How could _he _have done this to them?

_**He never would have left if he could help it.**_

He skidded to an uneven halt as he heard his sisters calling after for him to slow, and he did so, the thundering roar in his ears drowning all coherent thought.

_**Aslan, if there was ever a time for divine intervention, now would be it…**_

He thought sarcastically as Susan and Lucy practically collided with him. He glanced around, as they still in a frozen huddle at the end of the corridor. Edmund cursed, as he realised he had lost all sight of his brother.

He made a frantic dash for the nearest door, but Susan grabbed his jumper and yanked him back. He snarled, and whipped angrily about to face her.

"Just stop, will you! Stop!"

_**There's no time to stop.**_

He wrenched his arm out of her grip, and was about to make another break for the doorway, when a small hand lightly touched his arm. He jerked in surprise as he glanced down to see Lucy gazing up at him with serious eyes.

"Susan's right, Edmund. Just stop. Listen."

Edmund froze, as they all breathed heavily, listening intently to the almost completely silent house around them. At first, Edmund heard nothing, and opened his mouth to speak, when he jumped.

A muffled slam had sounded from somewhere around them.

Edmund groaned as Susan shook her head hopelessly, and Lucy continued to listen.

"He could be anywhere. Absolutely _anywhere._"

Edmund snapped, tensing as he thought of his brother's desolate face. That look in his eyes as he had embraced their Mother…

He shivered.

"Well, come on! We've got to find him, somehow!"

Lucy burst out, abandoning her attempt to locate the sound, and she swung around, skirts flying, looking frantically from doorway to doorway.

"Who says he even wants to be found?"

Said Susan, quietly. Her two younger siblings turned slowly to face her, eyes wide in shock. Susan frowned, defensive, and licked her dry lips as she stammered on.

"W-what I mean is…wouldn't it make more sense just to…wait? Someone should really stay with mother…"

Lucy crinkled her nose, looking at her sister disbelievingly, and Edmund's fists clenched. He could see the flitting emotions across his elder sister's face; as easy to read as inky words upon a page.

She was afraid.

Edmund felt suddenly disgusted, and angry. Did nobody think of anything but their Father? Father was _dead!_ Gone! They could do nothing to change it, do nothing to help him.

But Peter…

Peter needed them. Perhaps now more than ever. And maybe even more than they needed him.

Edmund gave Susan one last accusing look before he turned on his heel and ran through the nearest doorway, heading up a steep flight of servant's stairs with a series of pounding thumps.

Peter needed him.

Or perhaps, cruelly, Edmund needed Peter.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lucy backed away from her sister, still shaking her head disbelievingly, as Susan wrung her hands together.

"But…but, surely…"

Lucy saw again her sister kissing Peter coldly on the cheek, an expression of almost disgust upon her face. It had made her…well…angry was not really the word for it. She could not explain.

But it had to stop, whatever it was.

"Susan…I…"

Lucy swallowed, turning to face the door opposite the one Edmund had leapt up mere seconds ago. She swallowed, trying not to think about her eldest brother's despairing face.

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair at all.

"Go to mother. I'm going after Peter."

Susan looked at her in bewilderment, a slight frown forming at the commanding tone Lucy had suddenly adopted. Lucy let out a strangled sound of frustration at her sister's confusion.

It was about time Susan learned to grow up. Lucy was no longer a child. She had already matured into an adult once in her life. And if only Susan would remember, she would know.

"Don't follow me."

She determinedly ignored her sister's hurt expression at her cold order. She hurried out of the room, mentally mapping out her route as she ran headlong down a hallway and up a winding passage.

She knew where Peter had run to.

After all…she had visited there herself many times over the past week. A great many times. But, as of yet…she had not found the courage in her to actually open the door and step inside the wardrobe.

She feared Peter would not have been quite so cowardly.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Edmund halted abruptly with a bone jarring jolt, as a terrible, agonising cry filled every corner of the house. It was followed almost immediately by a heavy crash and the sound of something shattering.

On instinct, he moved blindly towards the sound. It had come from the…left, he was sure of it. He drew deep, wheezing breaths as he forced his tingling legs to run faster, trying desperately not to think about the indications of the noise.

A second pair of footsteps seemed to echo his own, right above him, on the third floor. Heavy, disorientated footsteps. Too heavy to be either of his sister's.

He turned a corner, to see a nearby door still swinging idly on its hinges, as though it had recently been violently swung open. He lunged for it, slamming against the doorframe with a grunt of pain, before he froze.

Nothing moved, and yet the empty room seemed to echo with the chaos of recent events. The rug was rumpled like the surface of a turbulent lake, and a large, pale patch on the wall indicated something which had recently hung there had been torn from it. Large tears in the intricate patterns of the wallpaper made it evident that it had not been a gentle parting.

Edmund's breath hitched as he started forwards, staring in disbelief at the floor.

A mass of crystalline, sharded fragments of a mirror were strewn awkwardly in an almost artistic pattern across the floor. Tiny beads of glass had rolled over the floorboards, some spilling out into the corridor behind him.

He moved slowly forwards, wincing at the crunch and crackle beneath his feet, to gaze with wide eyes at the centre of the chaos. Horrified terror seized his mind and filled the pit of his stomach with lead.

A single, cruelly sharp, knife like shard lay awkwardly where it could not have fallen. It's surface was smeared with dark, fresh blood.

His eyes widened in fear, and he threw his head back to yell desperately up at the ceiling:

"**PETER!"**

His answer was nothing but silence.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The door groaned loudly as it swung slowly open. Peter stepped forwards, a year's worth of dust rising in swirling clouds from the disturbance. It felt strangely…unreal, to be walking this path again.

A rolling clap of thunder and a flash of lightning suddenly filled the bare room with blinding light, and Peter flinched violently. From the light of the storm, he briefly saw the wardrobe, bathed in an ethereal glow.

He walked slowly to it, and then stood still, his gaze fixed unblinkingly on the smooth brass handle of the key.

As if of its own accord, his hand rose drowsily up to grasp the glistening metal, and a soft click sounded as he snapped his wrist around.

He did not smile.

The ornate door swung almost reluctantly open, and hit the side of the wardrobe with a muffled thud. Peter hesitated, and then lifted his foot to rest upon the bottom of the wardrobe, grasping the edge of the door with his stinging hand.

He froze, then removed his palm, and felt a surge of despair fill him as he saw the stark stain of oozing crimson upon the varnished rosewood surface.

But there was nothing to be done now. Despite the pain, he did not spare his hand a second glance as he resolutely reached for the edge again, this time hauling himself up and over the rim into the dark interior of the wardrobe.

High above him, the sky tore itself apart and emitted a deafening trill of noise, as though in warning.

Breaking through the soft barrier of coats, Peter carefully raised his head, reaching out blindly in the dark for something, anything.

There was a soft thud, as his fingers met smooth solidity.

Peter leant his aching head against the hard reality of the back of the wardrobe, as harsh sobs wracked his already shaking frame. He slid slowly down, leaning his back against the dark wood, drawing his knees up and burying his sodden face in his arms.

The storm broke, the torrents of rain lashing against the windows easing. A lulling, gentle, somehow comforting patter of droplets began, as the boy now huddled in the pitch black of the wardrobe began to cry.

And so Peter sat, and quietly wept his sorrows away.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

**I do not dislike Susan! Believe me, I have intricate plans in regards to her development. She just has a few (cough) issues…**

**A/N: This was quite possibly both the hardest and the longest chapter I have ever written. I do hope I've given it justice. Things should get a little better from now on; just a little.**

**Peter's moment with the mirror was inspired by one of my own experiences. One day, just look into the mirror, and think about who you see; if you look long enough, you get an eventual feeling of detachment, and you start to forget who it is you are looking at.**

**Or, which is more likely, I'm just strange…(sighs)**

**Cifel: …I'm not arguing with you. For every R E V I E W, Edmund will give Peter a hug (prods Ed with stick) fluffinate, you urchin!**

**Edmund: (frowns) Like I need telling…(glomps Peter)**


	15. Broken Solitude

**SORRY SORRY SORRY! It was my mum's birthday plus I had exams, and I just couldn't fit it in. But here it is! Enjoy! (and please don't kill me)**

**A/N: Just five minutes after posting the last chapter, it's on to the next (sighs) life is tough. Not long now until April 4th! And then, I can die in peace…(sighs) but that's not exactly plan A, of course!**

**I promised you fluff, and henceforth, I give you…fluff! (grins) Please enjoy.**

**To a confused reviewer: 'Glomping' is a term which means, simply, jump tackling someone in a massive squishy hug. It has no sexual connotations, it's pure fluff. Okie dokie?**

**Disclaimer: Narnia belongs solely to CS Lewis, and I sincerely hope he will not mind me borrowing his characters for a slight variation (cough cough) on his story. **

**Warnings: Nothing really. As ever, a little blood spilt.**

**Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.**

_This is Peter, or somebody in flashback_

**_This is Edmund_**

'_**Edmund in flashback'**_

Mistaken Perception

Part One: Late Arrivals

**_Chapter fourteen: Broken solitude_**

Professor Kirke was not entirely surprised when the hesitant knock came at his door. He drew in a short breath, and carefully set his pipe aside, calling a soft 'come in'.

The door swung slowly open, and Susan Pevensie slipped quietly into the room, her face troubled. The Professor smiled gently at her, and moved around the desk to lean against it, surveying her bloodshot eyes and disarrayed hair.

"Well now, my dear. What seems to be the trouble?"

She opened her mouth, and then closed it, eyes downcast. Professor Kirke waited patiently, busying himself with making a pot of tea.

"It's…our mother, Sir. She…well, she…"

The Professor idly added the tea leaves, swilled the pot, and glanced up at her. He quirked an eyebrow and gestured for her to continue.

"She thinks Peter's our Father."

It was abruptly said; a statement of fact, rather than an emotional outburst. The Professor handed her a steaming cup of tea, tactfully ignoring the way her hands shook violently and the cup rattled in the saucer.

"I see."

He said, quietly, sipping his own tea thoughtfully. He had feared something like this may happen. How, and in what form, he had not known. Certainly, he had not expected such a thing as this.

How cruelly ironic it was. To lose a mother, a father, and now, possible a brother, too.

Susan slammed the cup down on the desk, her fists clenched, shaking. The Professor could see her resolutely withholding her tears, as she scrubbed at her face furiously.

"I…I just…Peter, he…"

She looked up at the Professor's concerned and somehow comforting face, and bowed her head.

"We can't do this. We're not…we can't…we're only children. What can we do?"

The Professor's face grew grave. The wonders of Narnia, though uncountable…made it so terribly painful to let go. What was worse, however, was forgetting the wonders that caused the pain in the first place.

"On the contrary, dear girl. You may do a great many things. You need not let lesser powers than yourself rule your fate; you are a daughter of Eve."

Her head slowly rose, and the Professor smiled sadly at her confused expression. She was far gone. Very far gone. But not completely beyond redemption; no. There was still time.

"Fight; be strong. This is naught but a calm before the storm."

She frowned, and a flicker of…something indescribable passed through her clouded vision. He smiled, and nodded inwardly to himself, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder and steering her towards the door.

"Be ready; be ready, when the storm breaks."

Susan blinked, apparently confused. Professor Kirke set his cup aside upon the small table by the door, frowning as he thought of how to deal with the situation.

"And now, Susan. Your mother. I do not believe summoning a doctor would not do much good. The kind of healing she needs is beyond us, beyond any of us."

Susan hesitated, and then nodded slowly. The Professor patted her reassuringly on the back, his eyes twinkling softly.

"But for now, I think we may be able to ease her pain a little. Perhaps a cup of strong tea, and some luncheon, hmm? I always find some good warm food eases any hurt."

Susan smiled weakly, taking his proffered arm, and they left the study together, heading towards the kitchens. The Professor frowned once she had looked away, and thought solemnly:

'Aslan, my beloved friend. Shall you not ease these children's heavy hearts?'

Moments later, Susan could have sworn she heard the distant echoing of a roar. Looking back, however, as the day wore on, she felt sure she had imagined it. She would glance up, and shake her head, confusion filling her gaze.

And Digory Kirke would smile subtly around his pipe.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lucy walked briskly down the dark corridor, the misshapen shadows thrown by the storm outside casting dancing shapes across the floor. Her buckled shoes clacked softly as she took each step, and she felt strangely calm.

She kept her eyes fixed upon the latched door up ahead of her, listening intently for any sound above the chorus of rainfall and the rumbles of thunder. It had rained that day, too.

The day she had first been to Narnia.

It seemed so long ago, now. Almost like a dream. Not Narnia itself, but…herself, back then. She had grown beyond her years, seen things nobody but she and her siblings had seen before. She felt really quite lonely, sometimes.

She knew Peter felt lonely, too.

But he didn't have to be; and neither did she. To love another person, was to never be alone. And he was loved; they were all loved. They still had each other. No matter what else happened, they would always have each other.

She had reached the door now; was watching her own small hand lift the latch with neat precision, and the other push the soft wood gently.

_A dead bluebottle fly falls to the windowsill, wings folding in, quietly laying down to die. She vaguely wonders why it is so willing to do so._

Lucy blinked, and shook her head slightly, finding her eyes upon the same spot on the windowsill. It's covered in dust and cobwebs, but there's no sign of the fly's carcass. It had been wiped away.

As though it was never even there.

But Lucy knew it had been there; like Narnia. Narnia had always been there, always would be. You just had to know where to look, to find it. And she would, eventually. Some day. She knew it, in her heart.

But Peter didn't; Susan didn't. And Edmund was not sure at all.

She froze, as she heard a soft, muffled sound come from the wardrobe. She smiled sadly, and walked over to stand beside it, noting the gently swinging door, and the small crimson stain on the ornate carvings.

Without any further hesitation, she placed a foot on the rim, and slipped slowly inside. She steadied the door to stop it slamming, and turned, allowing a small slit of dull light to shine from the window outside.

It was pale inside, and dim. Lucy reached out, her fingers touching soft fabric, following the quiet cries of grief to the back corner of the wardrobe. She held her breath, and pushed through the last furry barrier, and emerged on the other side, stiff backed.

It was pitch black now.

"Peter? I can't see."

The sobs were suddenly choked back, and stifled, harsh breathing replaced them. Lucy moved slowly forward, carefully, as though approaching a jittery animal ready to bolt. She tried not to think about what she might have seen, if the wardrobe had not been so dark.

She also refused to note the solid, wooden back of the wardrobe.

She turned, and her foot bumped against something softer than wood. She smiled slightly, and leant down to her knees, stretching out her arms with a rustle of clothing.

The tips of her fingers met smooth, cold, and wet skin.

"Found you."

She whispered sadly, searching out her brother's tear stained face with blind hands. Her hands followed the line of his cheekbones until they reached the soft tickle of eyelashes, covered with clinging moisture.

"I thought hide and seek was a kids game."

She suppressed her own sob of misery.

"Oh, _Peter…_"

She settled herself down opposite him, fumbling to push the soft hair away from his face. She didn't know what to say. Suddenly, she felt…scared. She moved her hands down his neck to his arms, then to his hands, and froze as she felt them tremble.

"You mustn't cry. Boys don't cry, do they? Please? Stop crying."

His choked cries only doubled, and she felt him curl over on himself. She clasped his hand between her smaller ones, thinking how much smaller he seemed. She had never seen Peter cry. Not really.

Save when Edmund…well.

"She didn't mean it, you know. She truly didn't."

She murmured, and it echoed around the tiny space like a proclamation, or a prayer. Her hands clenched convulsively, willing him to say something, anything. She frowned, as she realised her fingers were now sticky with something thick.

"Your hand is sticky. Are you hurt? Here."

She reached into her blouse pocket, quelling the shaking in her own limbs, and retrieved one of her own handkerchiefs. Mr Tumnus' one, actually. She smiled. She kept it there, always. Closest to her heart. It helped her to remember.

She fumbled in the dark, wrapping his limp hand in it, and pressed down gently. She enclosed his curled fist in her own two once more, and smiled, trying to project her smile into her voice as she spoke.

"There, now."

She sounded so terribly like her mother, she felt somehow guilty.

"We'll have to get some antiseptic on it. No, keep it."

She said vaguely, as he attempted to hand it back to her. She grinned suddenly, and let out a small laugh, thinking about how strange it was that this little slip of material had been passed around.

"You need it more than I do."

Silence.

"What's….funny? S'nothing to be…happy…about…"

His voice sounded so weak, and bitter, that she almost started away from him. In the silence that followed, she could feel her own body begin to tremble again. She drew in a shaky breath.

"Oh Peter…don't."

She shuffled forwards, and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, pressing her head into his neck, smelling peppermint and the vague scent of pinewoods and fresh snow.

"M'sorry…Lu…"

He leant his head against hers, his chest beginning to wrack with harsh sobs once again. She tightened her grip, moisture welling and spilling down her own cheeks and into his shirt.

"I…want to go back…Lucy…"

Cold tears fell against the bare skin of her neck, but she smiled, remembering a golden age where leaves fell in autumn, instead of tears.

"It'll be alright. We'll get back, he'll be back. I know he will."

It's truly sad to think that not everybody in the world has as much faith as Lucy Pevensie does. But for her, sitting in a dimly lit wardrobe in the middle of a thunderstorm, holding her eldest brother as he shook and released long withheld tears…she knew what she had to do.

She would keep enough faith for all of them.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Edmund tripped and snarled viciously, dragging himself upright and stumbling on up the winding stairs. His fingers were sticky with the cold blood which had been on the mirror shard.

Nausea overwhelmed his senses as he thought of it, and his vision span, but he pushed on, slamming against doorframes and wincing at the pain.

_**Where are you?**_

Where did the blood come from? Surely Peter had not been so stupid as to…no. Surely…

_**Where would he go? Think, Edmund, think!**_

Peter had hardly been in a state to be cunning about his hiding place; he never had been very good at hide and seek at all, actually. It was why he always ended up playing seeker.

But, as children…when he had hidden, he had always, for some strange reason, gone to dark places. It was a very unorthodox place for a child to find solace in, now Edmund came to think of it.

_**A dark place…**_

At home, it had always been under their parents beds. Somewhere familiar, where he felt safe.

_**No, that can't be it…**_

Or in the downstairs cupboard.

_**But there are no cupboards here!**_

Or in the…

Edmund froze.

…in their parent's _wardrobe…_

_**Of course!**_

He skidded to an abrupt halt, turned tail and ran back where he had come, heading for the landing stairs this time. He knew the way well by now. Many a time, after they had returned from Narnia, he had slipped out of bed to go and sit by the wardrobe.

He had always awoken back in his own bed, however. And had no recollection of how he got there. He had a suspicion, though.

Peter's pyjamas were always covered in dust the following morning.

He wrenched the door open, the latch releasing a terrible screech as it was pulled clean out of the socket. Edmund winced and hurried inside, not bothering to pull the door to behind him.

It was quite dark.

It seemed strangely…dreamlike, almost. And quiet. The pattering of rain on the window outside had grown softer as the storm passed over, and now seemed almost calm.

"Peter?"

His voice was very quiet, and somewhat harsh. He cleared his throat, wincing as it grated, and stepped forward tentatively, listening hard.

It was so very quiet. No sound of sobs, or crying, from the wardrobe. Had he been wrong?

He glanced down, and saw tiny splatters of blood upon the floor. He swallowed thickly, glancing up to see a ghostly, crimson handprint on the side of the wardrobe. He felt the nausea rise again.

No, definitely not wrong.

The silence frightened him perhaps more than harsh sobbing would have. Grief beyond grief, he had heard it called, somewhere. Rather like going into shock, only far quieter.

He felt like screaming. Just to dispel the terrible silence. But he didn't. What a stupid notion, to scream. What good could it possibly do? What good could _he _possibly do?

_**Don't start.**_

The spell seemingly broken, he rushed hurriedly forward, pulling the door of the wardrobe wide and squinting hard into the dimly lit space. He could see nothing but an expanse of fur.

And then, he heard something.

"I…want to go back…Lucy…"

Edmund felt his heart beat faster, pounding with cool relief, fear and something…indescribable. He stood still, listening.

"It'll be alright. We'll get back, he'll be back. I know he will."

Edmund managed to smile at that, suddenly glad that Lucy was here. She was like a little light in the darkness, such faith, such hope in everything. If only they all had her blind faith…the faith of a child.

No. The faith of a believer. Lucy was no longer a child.

"He's…never…coming back…and we'll never get back, either…I'm not _him…_"

_**No.**_

"You're wrong. And you're right."

Edmund said softly, as he clambered into the wardrobe, pulling the door shut behind him and plunging them all into darkness. His two siblings said nothing, but Edmund heard a rustle of clothing, and pushed through the wall of coats, kneeling down to the hard bottom of the wardrobe.

"Peter? Hold out your hand."

Hesitation, and another soft rustle, and Edmund reached out, his hand colliding with a shaking limb. He curled his fingers around his brother's palm, frowning as he felt soft material enclosing a damp wound.

"Lucy? Your pocket torch. Do you have it?"

"Oh, of course! I forgot."

Her voice sounded thick, but steady. There was a heavy thump, more rustling, and Edmund shuffled closer, his hand still clutching Peter's tightly.

"Ah, here we are!"

A mechanical click, and they all recoiled at the sudden blare of bright light. Lucy gasped and nearly dropped it, and Peter brought a hand across his eyes, shielding them. Whether it was from the light, or something else, Edmund wasn't sure.

He bit his lip, and gestured for Lucy to hand the torch to him. She did so, her eyes wide with concern, and Edmund smiled encouragingly at her, nodding. She smiled in return, and shuffled around to sit beside him.

Edmund directed the torch down at Peter's bandaged hand, and probed it gently. Peter drew in a sharp breath, but otherwise did not move.

"Looks okay. You did a good job, Lu."

Lucy blushed lightly, and put a hand on his arm, then looked back to Peter, whose free hand still obscured half of his face. Edmund's face fell, and he allowed the torch to fall to the floor with a clatter.

It cast a gentle, soft glow about the entirety of the wardrobe, and suddenly it did not seem quite so oppressive. Edmund moved forward, and grasped Peter's shielding hand, pulling it very gently away.

"Peter; look at me."

Edmund swallowed thickly as he moved his own hand to cup Peter's chin, and carefully tilted it up. Peter's eyes followed soon afterwards, rising very slowly to meet Edmund's.

Edmund drew in a sharp breath.

Marring streams of dried tears formed a criss-crossed pattern across pale cheeks, flushed beneath the cheekbones as though in fever. Strands of golden hair were damp and curled at the ends, soaked in salty tears.

Peter choked bitterly at his brother's reaction, and turned his head away, but Edmund caught his cheek and forced his brother to look at him again, cupping his face in both hands.

"You are Peter Pevensie. You're our big brother."

Edmund pulled his brother gently forward, until their foreheads met, and he held that broken, darkened china gaze with determined eyes. He was not afraid. He stared straight into his father's eyes…

…and could see only Peter's pain reflected in them.

"These eyes…are like a ghost of him. But, you know…when I was very young, I asked Mother why Daddy had Pip's eyes."

'_**Mamma? Dadda 'as Pipper's eyes. Why, Mamma?'**_

"And every time I look at them…I don't think about how I lost him. I think about how I still have you."

Peter opened his mouth to protest, and Edmund placed a finger on his brother's lips, silently hushing him.

"You're Peter, my brother. And I love you."

Peter faltered, eyes roving over his brother's face, as though searching for some sort of deception. When he saw only resolute love, however, he drew a long, shuddering breath, closed his eyes, and nodded.

A small hand landed on each of their shoulders, and they looked up to see Lucy smiling widely at them both.

"We love you, Peter."

Peter looked both of them in the eye, sniffled lightly, and then his lips twitched tentatively upwards into a small smile, and he choked out a soft laugh.

"I…I know."

He scrubbed at his face, and then smiled at each of them in turn. He then held out two slightly shaky arms towards them, and Edmund blinked, confused. Peter raised an eyebrow.

"Well?"

Edmund glanced uncertainly at Lucy, and Peter rolled his eyes, and grabbed both of them with one arm each. Lucy squealed, as Peter drew them both into a close hug, Edmund settling against his shoulder and Lucy by his waist.

There was a peaceful silence, and Edmund pressed himself closer into Peter, wrapping an arm around his brother. Only now, did he understand just how afraid he had been.

He couldn't lose Peter. Not again.

Peter smiled weakly, though Edmund could feel him still shaking slightly, and ruffled Lucy's hair before dropping a kiss to Edmund's dark head. He sighed, and leant his head against his brother's. They sat quietly, the rain suddenly redoubling its efforts and the wind howling with fearful wails.

Peter suddenly shivered, and Edmund raised his head, to see Lucy, her wide eyes filling with tears. Peter smiled and smoothed her hair away from her face, and laughed lightly when she huffed and buried her head in his knee.

"Now, Lu. Enough of the waterworks, or we'll end up sitting in a puddle. Then Ed will gripe all evening about wet socks."

Edmund rolled his eyes, half exasperated; half relieved Peter was obviously feeling better.

Or pretending to be.

Peter was still shaking.

"Peter, you're the world's biggest idiot. Did you…I mean…"

He never asked Peter straight if he had had an attack. If he did, he knew Peter's immediate response would be to clam up and change the subject. And sure enough…

"Love you too, Ed."

Edmund humphed, and silently dismissed the notion. He would deal with that particular problem later. Now, though, it felt so peaceful, so…warm. It hadn't been like this since…

…since the news came that terrible morning.

"Storm's getting worse…"

Peter murmured quietly, and Edmund tightened his arm around him, seeing the fear and bitter hurt swirl in the depths of his brother's eyes. This was far from over. But for now, just for the time being…he would ease his brother's hurt in any way he could.

"It'll pass, Peter. We'll get through."

Silence descended once again, the wardrobe a seeming cosy refuge from the storm raging outside. And not just the rain and thunder, either. Beyond the wardrobe doors, there was an entire world of hurt, of uncertainty.

And their backs against the wardrobe still felt disappointing solidity.

"Edmund?"

"Yes?"

"You didn't close the door, did you? It only opens from the outside."

"…damn."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Some things just never change, do they?**

**A/N: Yay, development on the Susan front! I can barely keep track of all these emotions flitting around…phew…**

**Cifel: Drowning…in…fluff…too…sappy….dying….argh! (dies)**

**Ooops…ah well, he'll be back. Again, sorry this took so long, the scene with Lucy and Peter was hell to write! And it's not as long as usual, either. Sorry, it's just a bit of a hectic time.**

**Make somebody's life better: R E V I E W!**


	16. One for Sorrow

**A/N: (Really nervous) Jeez, I have a mega exam tomorrow…(freaks out) OMIGOD I'm going to fail so badly! (Coughs) Yeah, I'm ok, I'm fine…apologies if this chapter seems a bit jittery!**

**Many of you are anxious for us to get back to Narnia, but that's scheduled for around chapter twenty, maybe twenty five. 'But what could possibly happen in ten chapters!' I hear you cry? Well…**

**Like I'm going to tell you! (winks)**

**Disclaimer: Narnia belongs solely to CS Lewis, and I sincerely hope he will not mind me borrowing his characters for a slight variation (cough cough) on his story. **

**Warnings: Nothing really. As ever, a little blood spilt.**

**Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.**

_A dream (wow, been a long time since on of these!)_

**_This is Lucy_**

Mistaken Perception

Part One: Late Arrivals

**_Chapter fifteen: One for sorrow_**

Susan did not return to her mother's bedside. Even if she had, she would not have stayed there for long. She didn't know how, but…she felt rather than assumed that her siblings had gone to the wardrobe.

She could not explain it, but she knew. And she felt suddenly afraid, almost. Going back there raised so many questions….questions Susan neither knew the answer to, nor wanted to know.

It was too painful.

All too soon, she was there. Standing in the doorway; everything exactly as she remembered. Whitewashed walls, plain, and a dusty windowsill. The wardrobe.

Door tight shut, key in the lock.

She frowned, wondering for a moment if she had been wrong. But she had been so sure, positive even. They were in there, she knew it. The rain had begun to ease by now, and it seemed as though she walked through a moment frozen in time as she stepped forward.

She could almost hear their happy laughter, all four of them, as they fell from the wardrobe after one of their many games.

Had she truly been so childish, then? A mere year ago?

And yet…she missed it, somehow. Longed for something…indescribable. Like a faraway dream, lingering in the recesses of her mind.

She sighed, and reached with a steady hand for the key, turning it carefully. A soft click, and a creak, and the door swung slowly open. She peered inside, squinting, quirking an eyebrow as she saw a gentle glow pulsating behind the wall of coats.

"…Susan?"

Lucy's sleepy voice sounded, muffled by the coats, and a tousled, flushed face appeared between them, startling Susan slightly. She raised an eyebrow as she took in how all three of them were huddled together at the back of the wardrobe, arms tight around each other.

She swallowed, but carefully schooled her face into an expression of amusement.

"Aren't we a little old for games like this?"

Susan's eyes met her eldest brother's, and she blinked in surprise at the intensity of his gaze. Almost like he was looking right _through _her. She averted her eyes, determined to suppress the rising burning in her throat, but could feel his unwavering, disappointed gaze upon her regardless.

"What games, Susan?"

Lucy asked, carefully, her face unreadable. Susan frowned, confused. They were all acting so terribly _off _around her lately. Well, now was hardly the time to ask about such things.

She cleared her throat, and held the wardrobe door wide, jerking her head towards the door.

"Nothing. Do come on out, it's past eight already."

Susan busied herself with straightened her skirts, watching out of the corner of her eye as Peter and Edmund disentangled themselves and made their unsteady way to their feet.

"What were you all doing in the wardrobe?"

She flinched violently as something beat against the foggy mist within her brain. Someone, somewhere, a time ago, had spoken those exact same words. But who, and with what purpose, escaped her.

She grimaced, and only half listened as Lucy eagerly answered her question.

"Well, Susan, Ed-"

"-wanted to think back on old times, right Lucy?"

Edmund said, rather too hastily, a flush colouring his freckled cheeks. He stumbled on before Lucy could continue, as she opened her mouth with a scowl.

"Stupid thing to think, I know, but-"

Lucy clapped a hand over his mouth and rolled her eyes, turning to her elder sister with a look of exasperation.

"He got us locked in, Su. Forgot he mustn't close the door behind him. We thought it was hardly proper to start shouting for help, so we waited."

Susan nodded distractedly, glancing down to see Peter seated awkwardly on the edge of the wardrobe, one foot hanging down, and the other drawn up to his chest. He was terribly pale, and his left hand was wrapped in a handkerchief.

He blinked, sensing her gaze, and glanced up. She suppressed a shiver, but managed a weak smile, holding his gaze as steadily as she could. His eyes softened, and he smiled back, before looking away.

Lucy pretended to yawn behind a curled fist, hiding her smile, and pushed the wardrobe door closed with a soft thud after Peter had clambered to his feet. For a moment, they stood in uneasy silence, nobody daring to speak, and she turned the key.

Finally, Susan cleared her throat, and spoke.

"Is Peter alright?"

She asked Edmund, as Peter had dropped pinched the bridge of his nose with a grimace, eyes slipping closed and scrunching up his face in pain. It came out far colder than she had intended.

Edmund nodded slowly; hand on his brother's shoulder, eyes curious.

"Yes."

Susan straightened her cardigan, nodding in acknowledgement.

"Good."

That cold indifference again. But what more there was to say?

She pursed her lips, feeling the pressure as they all watched her. She turned on her heel, and stiffly walked away, calling over her shoulder in a business like tone as she did so.

"Well then. It's late; it's been a long day. Ed, get Peter to bed, would you? Lucy, you too, get changed. I'll brew us some peppermint tea."

She heard Lucy's buckled feet clinking as her sister moved to follow her, calling out her name as she did so.

"But, Susan…"

Her little sister sounded almost hurt, and somehow angered. Susan faltered and increased her pace as she heard her eldest brother's hoarse voice sound.

"Lucy, let her go."

The footsteps stopped. Susan breathed a sigh of relief, then an immediate rush of cold dread.

There was never room.

In the wardrobe, had she wanted to join them…there would not have been room. And even if there had been, she didn't fit. Peter had an arm each, one for Lucy, and one for Edmund.

But not one for her.

No, never for her.

She had always made her own way, carved her own path. But it had always been beside her sibling's; sometimes even joining with them, in one long, single journey. Together.

Not now, though.

Not any more.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

They said nothing. They each uttered a vague 'goodnight' to Lucy as she hugged them both in turn and scurried off to change into her nightgown. Once her echoing footsteps had died, they simply stood for a moment, moonlight filtering in through the fogged glass of the window.

Peter was dead on his feet; slumped, leaning heavily on Edmund, desperately trying to keep as much weight off his brother as possible, but failing miserably. The emotional exhaustion had worn him out completely, and it didn't help that he had been tearing about.

Or that his lungs had been very much starved of oxygen.

Edmund, too, felt practically shattered with exhaustion, but suppressed it as well as he could. He grunted, and hefted Peter's arm higher over his shoulders, managing to grind them both into their first staggering steps.

"I'm sorry."

Edmund froze, and turned his head slowly to meet Peter's quietly pleading gaze. His brother's too-long golden hair obscured half of his face, the moonlight making it seem almost silver in the half light of late dusk.

"I mean it, Ed. I'm sorry."

Edmund shook his head slowly, a genuine, fond smile creeping across his face. He leant up, and pressed a brief, lingering kiss to his brother's cheek before gently manoeuvring them both through the doorway together.

And that was answer enough.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

_It was…warm._

_So very warm. She could smell soft earth, and fresh, green grass. A cool, refreshing breeze ruffled her hair lightly, wafting the sweet scent of wild flowers about her._

_Her body ached, but she wasn't uncomfortable, only pleasantly dull-minded. She sighed, and leant against the gatepost and stile beside her. It was quiet, and yet the gentle hum of insects and the swish and sway of the field about her was not entirely peaceful._

_She knew this place. How, or where it happened to be, she didn't care. Oh, she wanted to stay here forever. Away. Far away._

_Away from what?_

"_Mamma?"_

_She started, and glanced down to find her daughter pulling on the ends of skirts, rippling in the cool breeze. She smiled, and leant down to smooth Susan's dark hair._

"_Yes, sweetheart? What is it?"_

_The little girl flicked her long, dark plait over her thin shoulder and smiled a gap-toothed grin. She took her mother's wrist, and weaved a thin chain of daisies about it, tying the ends in a loose knot to complete the effect._

"_Bracelet, Mamma!"_

_Helen laughed, and took her daughter's hand with care, leading her through a path in the flowers towards the other side of the field._

"_Why yes, darling! How lovely! Thank you."_

_Susan wrinkled her nose and sneezed, batting at the bobbing heads of the flowers around her._

"_What are these flowers, Mamma?"_

"_Poppies, darling. Do come on. Dadda said to meet him back at the gate in a few minutes, hmm?"_

_Susan suddenly slammed to a halt, her eyes going wide, and Helen frowned as her face drained of all colour. The little girl wrenched her hand from her mother's, shaking her head in sudden disbelief._

"_Dadda? But, Mamma…"_

"_Father's dead."_

_Helen whirled about, to see boy, familiar and yet unfamiliar to her. Her own eyes, her own face gazed back at her, but an expression which was entirely Henry's shone from the mirror of her features._

"_Who are you?"_

_She asked, and then felt a little silly. The dark haired boy blinked, and his eyes darkened._

"_I'm your son. You've…forgotten me, too?"_

_A son? But she only had one son. A son and a daughter, Susan and…_

…_Peter…_

…_Henry?_

"_How could you? How could you do this?"_

_Helen turned again, to find Susan, now only an inch shorter than herself, her aged blue eyes burning with anger stemmed from an unseen demon. _

"_Mummy, we need you! Why did you go?"_

_A little girl…Lucy…clasped her hand, and Helen wrenched it away, shocked to see streams of tears coursing down the child's face. Edmund, the now named boy, stepped towards her, as did Susan, their faces filled with betrayal._

"_Why did you leave us like Dad did?"_

"_How could you!"_

"_We need you…please, Mummy…"_

_Swirling voices. The poppy field was tilting violently below her, angry, screaming voices pouring curse upon curse down onto her. She clutched her head and cried out, cold moisture welling in her eyes._

_Silence._

_Her eyes snapped open, to utter darkness. Suddenly, there was an ominous creak, and far ahead a slit of light revealed a blinding whiteness beyond barred doors. She threw her hands over her face, drawing a sharp breath as she squinted into the light._

_A beautiful, kindly, gentle and yet terrifying face gazed sadly upon her with liquid amber eyes._

_A lion._

_And a cloaked, winged figure, dressed all in white._

"_Helen, Daughter of Eve."_

_A terrible, and yet wonderful voice filled her senses with wonder, and she slowly, tentatively, raised her head._

"_Wake up."_

And Helen Pevensie awoke with a gut wrenching gasp.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Here, Peter. The doctor asked me to give these to you. For…you know."

Peter took the small jar of ointment, along with a small package of dried peppermint leaves, and nodded gratefully. It had been a full day, now, and Peter and Edmund were due back at school that afternoon.

The sleepy railway station would have seemed calm, if the atmosphere had not been so tense. There was no wind, and yet a cold chill seemed to run through all of them. Edmund had wrapped his coat tightly around himself and gruffly announced he was going to check the timetables.

None of them had said a word about their mother. They had spent the previous day talking over school life, trivial matters, the weather and so forth. They had played a few small games; Susan had tried to teach Lucy to play chess with little success.

Peter and Edmund had only appeared at lunchtime, with dark shadows beneath their eyes. Lucy had a suspicion they had been up half the night, talking. She, rather guiltily, had fallen asleep almost at once after Susan had sent her off to get changed.

Peter had seemed a little better; less weight appeared to hang over his shoulders, and his eyes were brighter, closer to their usual vibrant cheer…but something still lingered, in the few, precious moments when Lucy had caught him staring out into the middle distance.

Something dark.

She did not know what to say. Part of her was still rejoicing, and was grateful for at least the brief visit from her siblings. Part of her wished for nothing more or less than to curl up in a corner and scream about the injustice of it all.

In a single day, Susan would leave too. And then she would be alone again; alone with mother. Helen Pevensie was hardly what you would call 'good company' right now. In fact, she didn't seem at all aware of anything much any more.

She was either asleep, or staring out at the sky outside, a wistful, troubled expression on her face.

She was not unhappy; Lucy could have forgiven her, a little, for wallowing in grief. Lucy would not, however, stand for this infuriating blissful ignorance her mother maintained.

As if nothing had happened at all.

As if Father had never-

Stop.

"Lucy? You alright?"

Lucy glanced up, stumbling against the platform bench, and met her father's concerned gaze. For a single moment, she felt her heart leap.

Then sink with disappointment, and guilt.

She pulled on a small, fake smile and nodded, taking Peter's helping hand and pulling herself back to her feet.

"Yes, Peter. I'm fine."

He opened his mouth to answer, his face troubled, when a loud whistle filled the crisp, morning air and puffs of steam rose above treetops in the distance. Edmund called to Peter from beside the timetable, gathering up their cases, ready to go.

Lucy felt a lump rise in her throat.

They were leaving; all too soon, as quickly as they had come. Everyone was leaving. Father was dead, Mother had gone. Susan drew further and further away, with each passing day.

And now Edmund and Peter were going, too.

'_**Aslan, oh, Aslan…please, tell me I'm not alone…**_

_**I don't want to be alone…'**_

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Wow, a chapter completely focused on the girls! I hope you're not all starved of Ed/Peter fluff…WOO, ASLAN! Any ideas on the cloaked figure, guys?**

**A/N: I have to say, the little scene with Peter and Ed was quite possibly one of my favourites. I don't know what you think, but I feel it sums up their progress so far quite well. Simple, but meaningful.**

**Cifel: (Sings) I love you, you love me, we're a happy faaaaaaaamily…SO REVIEW BEFORE I…um…uh…**

**Rest of cast: (bang their heads against a nearby wall)**

**Um…yeah. Review please, pretty please, pretty please with a cherry on top? Pretty please with an Edmund and Peter on top?**

**Ed and Peter: (hide)**

**R E V I E W, and receive good karma! …and a cherry…**


	17. Two for Joy

**A/N: Yay, did the exam, it was easy, yadda yadda. Like any of you care about it, anyway…wow, Cedric POV! There's a few fresh concepts in here, actually. Peers POV crops up again.**

**Disclaimer: Narnia belongs solely to CS Lewis, and I sincerely hope he will not mind me borrowing his characters for a slight variation (cough cough) on his story. **

**Warnings: Nothing really. As ever, a little blood spilt.**

**Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.**

_This is Peter_

**_This is Edmund_**

Mistaken Perception

Part One: Late Arrivals

**_Chapter sixteen: Two for joy_**

Cedric picked wearily at his food, and sighed melodramatically. It was so…boring. He stabbed at his haggis with his fork, frustrated, and blew a wayward strand of curled ginger away from his freckled nose.

There was a war on. So where were the bombs? The thrill, as you fought for your life and your country, never knowing which moment would be your last. The next, perhaps?

Cedric rested his chin upon his upturned palm, and rocked idly back and forth on the bench. Boring, boring, boring.

And Peter and the kid weren't back yet.

Cedric wasn't one for wearing his heart on his sleeve. But even he had to consent, he was worried. Strange things were happening. First, the pranks. Then the two Pevensie brothers ending up in the hospital wing, the reason unexplained. And then, there had been the incident that morning.

He shuddered, and pulled his coarse, dark crimson blazer tighter around himself. The poor kid…they said it was a vermin trap, of some sort. Cedric gritted his teeth, fist clenching. It had been no accident. It had been planted. He _knew _it.

Well, you know what they say. When life ain't got enough for you, make your own excitement.

"Attention, students!"

Cedric started, one leg swung over the bench, and overbalanced, falling to the floor with a resounding crash. His hand grabbed the edge of the table, and hit the edge of his plate, sending it soaring into the air.

Cedric's eyes widened as his knife clattered to the ground perilously close to his nose, but grinned lopsidedly nonetheless and looked sheepishly around at the stunned faces about him.

"Ah, and now I **KNOW **it must be Monday!"

He announced cheerfully, hanging upside down with his foot trapped in the end of the bench. He blew the mess of red hair out of his face again and levered himself upright with some effort, while a few first years tittered nervously.

The Headmaster looked very much like he had swallowed a lemon whole, as Cedric clambered to his feet, made a show of dusting himself off, and bowed courteously to the hall at large with a flourish.

"My apologies, good students of this wonderful institute."

He said with a tip of an invisible hat, before dropping abruptly into his seat with a huff. There was a dead silence. Cedric looked around, looking suddenly confused, but the quirk of a grin lingered about his lips.

"What? Was it something I said?"

The Headmaster, who stood opening and closing his mouth with an uncanny resemblance to a goldfish, flushed and abruptly pushed his glasses back up his nose. Cedric Reynolds was quite renowned in the staffroom for his rather…eccentric…offences.

"Well, now Mr Reynolds has been so kind to right himself-"

The entire hall erupted into laughter, and Cedric allowed a small, knowing smile to creep across his otherwise innocently curious features. Mr Havisham's cheeks coloured with anger.

"SILENCE!"

Immediately, all went quiet, and Cedric frowned. The memo the headmaster had retrieved from his chest pocket was not made from the normal, thin typewriter paper which was used so religiously by the school secretary.

It looked official. Was that the government signature logo?

Cedric felt his heart sink, while simultaneously beginning to beat harder with excitement. What could it be? An evacuation order, perhaps? Or maybe they were closing the school!

Or perhaps, he thought with a hard swallow, something terrible had happened.

Havisham cleared his throat imperiously, and glanced down at the thick slip of paper in his hand. He frowned, and then looked up at the swarm of anxious, confused faces swimming before him in a seething mass.

"As I was saying. We have received an official memorandum, from the government, concerning national security."

Muttering broke out, and Cedric stared, blood rushing from his face. Curly locks hung in his eyes, but for once, he neither brushed nor blewthem away. National security?

This wasn't going to be good…

"According to inside intelligence, the enemy plan on targeting home front defences, including munitions factories and any estates which may be being used as temporary airbases."

Cedric thought of the flimsy, broken toy plane which lay hidden beneath the floorboards below his bed, and swallowed. Their school was not far from a large, industrial town which had been almost completely converted into a war effort machine.

And what was worse…the school, from the air, could look very much like a potential airbase. The field and the tennis courts were ideal for anti-aircraft guns.

Cedric barely heard, as the entire school listened in stunned silence and Havisham reluctantly continued in low, serious tones.

"Because of this, all boarding schools are to be forewarned to take extreme precautions. The possibility of bomb and gas attacks is highly probable. Therefore, the following safety measures shall be applied:"

Cedric's head snapped up, as a rather pale faced Prefect tapped him on the shoulder, and handed him a small, labelled box with the words 'Government Regulation' on the side. Cedric muttered a thanks, and the Prefect staggered on down the aisle, arms filled and overflowing with the things.

Cedric lifted the flimsy lid, and peered inside, watery blue eyes narrowing, before he flipped it neatly shut again. He drew a deep breath through flared nostrils.

A gas mask. The sulphuric, rubbery smell seeped out from the folds in the cardboard boxes all around him. He could almost taste the lingering scent of incendiary bombs which he had briefly encountered back home.

He wondered miserably if 'home' even existed anymore.

"…gas attack drills so if you hear the bell sound three short trills, and the siren sound, kindly head calmly but promptly to the nearest exit…"

Cedric lifted the monstrosity out of the box, his nose wrinkling as he held it at arms length. It dangled from a leathery, coarse strap, and it's blank, steamed panes of glass looked almost sinister. Like some sort of demented creature.

He fingered the lettering stamped upon the side, in official, bold script:

**R E Y N O L D S , C E D R I C**

It looked horribly akin to the sort of lettering you might find of a gravestone. Though it was officially stated that the masks were named to avoid losing them, Cedric suspected there was quite a different purpose to the naming. After all, people took these masks with them everywhere.

So even if your body was blown to bloody smithereens, you would still know what to write on the gravestone above the remains.

"...temporary shelters have been erected on the edges of the school grounds. When the sirens sound, don your mask _immediately _and head for them. If you are in any way trapped, find the nearest shelter you can and crouch with your head between your knees…"

What a _stupid _way to die. Better found sprawled with a gun in your hand, in pieces, than whole and a coward.

Cedric glanced up, and looked around at all the pale, bloodless faces around him, gazing at their masks in uncertain anxiety. They were second hand. Cedric could see the scratched out remains of a previous name below his own, and the tiniest fleck of crimson upon the lip of the seal.

He shivered.

How many more spare masks would there be by the time the attacks were over?

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hey…" gasp "Peter?" wheeze.

Edmund managed to gasp out, wincing as he hefted his suitcase higher on his shoulder and stumbled over a crack in the pavement. Peter, also out of breath, grabbed onto a nearby fence and pulled himself up the steep incline.

"Yes…" puff "Ed?" cough.

It was a surprisingly warm day; they were both back in uniform, and the scratchy, starched material dug into their shoulders and made their bare skin itch. It was a hard climb up the hill to the school, and their cases only seemed to grow heavier.

Edmund let out a frustrated growl as his fingers, slick with sweat, lost their hold on the handle of his case and it fell to the ground. Immediately, it burst open.

"Oh, bother it!"

Peter set his own case carefully down, and helped Edmund gather his scattered clothing and belongings. Though neither said it, both were rather glad to have a reasonable excuse to take a break.

Once the case was shut and bulging once more, they both stood still, and blinked in the harsh light of midday. Peter leant against the fence, the sunlight glancing off his hair and a light breeze tossing it across his pale face.

Edmund sighed, and idly re-tied his shoelace, ignoring the flecks of mud upon the varnish. Only a few weeks ago, he had sat in the kitchen, helping his mother sew name tags into his school shirts and darning his already patched jumpers. She had varnished his shoes then, with black polish, smiling and humming a simple song as she did so.

"…alright, Ed? You seem a little out of it."

Edmund's head snapped up, and he flushed slightly, meeting Peter's concerned gaze. He scrambled up and stood next to Peter, smiling slightly as the breeze ruffled his own dark hair.

"Yeah. I'm just a little tired, that's all."

Peter raised an eyebrow, but said no more about it. Instead, he sighed, and reached up to gently bat a wayward curl from Edmund's face, smiling fondly.

"We really need to get this cut. At this rate, you'll end up looking like Susan."

Edmund pouted indignantly, and slapped his brother's hand gently away. He quirked an eyebrow and twirled one of Peter's golden strands of hair around his finger, suppressing any memories of doing the same to his father when he was young. He tugged the lock, pulling it straight and smirking when he found that it reached past Peter's nose.

"I would _not. _And at least **_I _**don't look like a girl with short hair."

There was an ominous silence, broken only by a few tentative crickets in the grass by the roadside hedges. Edmund blinked, and very slowly raised his eyes with a sheepish smile. He frowned, and protested weakly:

"But it's all pretty and shiny, and when it goes in your face it…um…well…"

His voice trailed off, and he subtly edged away from his brother and reached for his suitcase, noting the murderous expression which was rapidly turning Peter's face an offended red.

"I'll be off then!"

And with the threat of being bludgeoned to death by a large and heavy suitcase, Edmund sprinted up the last crescent of the hill at top speed, the steep ascent hardly bothering him with a livid and highly dangerous de-masculinised elder brother on his tail.

Such are the trials of brotherly love.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Doctor Evesham had received the title 'doctor' for his excellence in the psychological degree. Contrary to the usual stereotype of a highly qualified teacher, he was only thirty one, and had few if any grey hairs speckled in his sandy blond hair. His eyes were a deep grey, quite calm, unmoveable.

He had studied at some of the finest universities, and so his position as head of the philosophical and psychological departments at a mere boarding school was practically underemployment. However, he found the young mind to be far more…interesting, not to mention easier to stimulate.

And so, sipping his herbal tea with a steady hand, and studying the highly agitated headmaster before him, he felt really quite gleeful. Another case, perhaps? What would it be this time?

Perhaps a development in the Pevensie case? Highly intriguing, that was. Grief really was a fascinating manipulator of the mind. It could do very strange things. And it only got better.

Possible obsession, mother deemed officially insane, signs of compulsive, violent tendencies, and an unstable temperament?

It was practically a Godsend.

"Well, my dear Havisham. It appears you have acquired me quite a troublesome patient."

The headmaster wiped a handkerchief across his damp brow, frowning severely over his oval glasses, turning away from the window to resume his frenzied pacing.

"Oh, do stop being all high and mighty, Tom. I just don't understand it! Peter Pevensie was such a sweet boy. And now, all of sudden…fights! Running out of class! How could a single younger sibling cause this much disruption!"

Thomas Evesham smiled knowingly behind his flower printed mug, and shifted aside a few papers in his newly assembled file. Beneath all the copies of legal documents, a small, faded photo lay taped to a sheet of notes.

He smiled. This tiny, frozen moment in time told him far more than all of the other documents did together. The two brother's; probably on holiday at the seaside, Blackpool, hair tossing in the wind, carefree smiles upon their faces.

They were only young; this was years ago. They stood close together, a spade clasped in the elder's hand, a bucket in the younger's.

Their other hands, the elder's right and the younger's left, were clasped together between them, tightly.

Doctor Evesham held up the picture in front of the headmaster's face, a smile curling his own lips as he stared at their joy-filled faces, looking at each other, holding hands.

"That, my dear Havisham, is the cause of all the chaos. My poor friend…you are fighting a loosing battle."

The headmaster took the photo, and looked from the picture, to the doctor, and back, clearly confused. Evesham shook his head, taking another sip from his tea and sitting back.

"You cannot outwit love, I'm afraid."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Peers Jordan clasped his hands behind his back, and stared out at the front lawn of the school. Just rounding the two stone griffins, standing tall upon columns of weathered marble, two figures were stumbling through the iron gates.

The smallest of smiles curled his lips.

His fingers itched. They _burned_, begged for revenge. He snarled, and caressed his knuckles with the fingertips of his other hand, trying to mollify his yearning. Soon. Very soon. _Wait._

They were closer now, and he could see their flushed faces, and smiles. Brief touches, a clap on the shoulder, eyes shining with love and affection. They seemed to positively glow with joyful energy.

He slammed his clenched fist into the wall, ignoring the sharp pain of the collision.

He hated it so. To see their happiness. They did not deserve it, no, no more than the bastards in their planes above did. He wanted it so. Wanted to feel that warmth, share those smiles.

And yet he _hated _them. So completely, so utterly, his very soul burned with the searing power of it.

All he had ever known was darkness. And cold. Hands in the dark, slapping, sneering, swirling faces. Pain. Purple and yellow blemishes the only colour which filled his blackened world.

Peter Pevensie had been so bloody _happy. _And no matter what he did, no matter how much he hurt the boy…he had simply looked at him in pity, with knowing, clear sky blue eyes. Pity.

He needed nobody's PITY!

Peter Pevensie had understood. Read him like an open book, seen past every defence, every farce. And even as his arms, his blackened hands, had clenched the golden boy's throat and held him drowning beneath the shining water's surface…

There had still been nothing but pity in those eyes.

He was strong.

He needed no pity.

And they would pay. Both of them, together. If they were so fond of each other, they could perish together as fools quite happily. Maybe they'd even go quietly.

His finger's prickled. Itched. _Burned._

Soon.

Yes, soon.

Peers smiled, slumped against the side of the window, breathing heavily. His hot breath condensed upon the cold window pane, seeming to enfold the two approaching figures in a clouded nimbus.

He brushed a fingertip trembling with anticipation upon the glass, smiling, emitting a soft, low laugh.

"No, no, no, Edmund Pevensie. This game is far from over."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Honestly. Angst overload, then fluff overload, then humour! What on earth shall be next?**

**Well, angst again, actually. With light splatters of fluff, of course…**

**A/N: So. Historical context is coming into play! No girls in this chapter, but I figure the boy's deserved this. And I really needed to move their plot along, or I'll never reach the twenty chapter deadline…**

**Next chapter: Edmund gets rebellious, Cedric goes detective, Peter get's severely out of breath and Peers…well…is Peers.**

**Cifel: Now, my dear readers. I hear this… 'Cedric' is getting quite popular. Well. We'll see what we can do about that…I'M THE DOMINANT OC IN THIS SERIES!**

**Cedric: (brandishes gas mask like a lasso) I beg to differ, my outdated 'friend'.**

**Cifel: OUTDATED? Alright biatch. You've asked for it…(unsheathes big, scary sword)**

**Um…help?**

**R E V I E W ...and **


	18. Fair of Face

**A/N: I seriously think I have some sadistic problem…the things I put these guys through! Ah well. You enjoy watching them suffer, don't you?**

**As ever, COLOSSAL thanks to all who reviewed! This story wouldn't even be here were it not for all of you. Which means…if it sucks, it's your fault!**

**(laughs) Nah, I know. You encourage, I deliver. Yadda yadda.**

**Disclaimer: Narnia belongs solely to CS Lewis, and I sincerely hope he will not mind me borrowing his characters for a slight variation (cough cough) on his story. **

**Warnings: Nothing really. As ever, a little blood spilt.**

**Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.**

_This is Peter_

**_This is Edmund_**

Mistaken Perception

Part One: Late Arrivals

**_Chapter seventeen: Monday's child is fair of face_**

_It was…warm._

_So very warm. She could smell soft earth, and fresh, green grass. A cool, refreshing breeze ruffled her hair lightly, wafting the sweet scent of wild flowers about her._

_Her body ached, but she wasn't uncomfortable, only pleasantly dull-minded. She sighed, and leant against the gatepost and stile beside her. It was quiet, and yet the gentle hum of insects and the swish and sway of the field about her was not entirely peaceful._

_She knew this place. How, or where it happened to be, she didn't care. Oh, she wanted to stay here forever. Away. Far away._

_Away from what?_

"_Um…excuse me?"_

_She started and sucked in a hasty gasp, and sprang away from a round, confused face which had suddenly appeared above her, blocking out the sky. She sat up, leaning away, squinting in the bright sunlight._

"_Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to…to…sorry?"_

_She saw now that it was a young boy, about eight or so years old. He was grinning sheepishly at her, a small, chubby hand reaching out to help her back up. She stared at him._

_He was quite a scrawny thing. Not thin, but gangly, as many boys were who had faced a sudden growth spurt from a toddler to a young child. His knees were grazed, and he had grass stains on his cotton shirt._

_She frowned, as she looked at his face._

_He had sandy, golden blond hair, which hung down in his face. She couldn't see his features too well, but she could tell he was quite pale. She blinked, feeling something tickle in the back of her mind._

_The boy's face scrunched up in uncomfortable confusion._

"_What?"_

_She started again, and smiled shakily, shaking her head as she accepted his hand. Once she was on her feet, she leant against the stile beside her, looking down at him with some bewilderment._

"_It's nothing; you just…never mind. You reminded me of someone."_

_He froze, and his head slowly rose. She still could not see his features properly, but she saw his hands ball into clenched fists at his side. She blinked, surprised._

"_Did I? Oh."_

_His voice was quiet, and shaky, and somewhat guarded. The wind picked up, sending cool, refreshing waves across the poppy field. The budded flower heads swayed limply too and fro, caught in the slipstream._

"_Are you lost?"_

_He scrambled up the old fencing, settling himself on the topmost beam beside her, legs swinging idly, just brushing the poppies below. She considered his query as she watched him shift about until he was comfortable._

_Well, she didn't know where she was, or where she had come from. So, she supposed, she must be lost._

"_Yes. Yes, I suppose I am."_

_He said nothing for a moment, gazing out at the sea of red swaying before them. She stared at the profile of his face, the wind tossing his golden hair around the tip of his nose._

"_Me too."_

_He whispered, so quietly she almost didn't catch it._

_He hopped abruptly off the stile, his hand extending once more towards her. She looked at it, confused. He smiled, rather too cheerfully._

"_Come on! I know someone who can help us."_

_She smiled, deciding to indulge the child, and took his small hand in hers once more, following him as he lead the way carefully through the rippling red sea. It felt strangely surreal. As though she had already walked this path…_

"_What's the matter?"_

_Now she came to think of it, the child was far too…mature, for his age. Coaxing her as though she was the child, and not he. And why was she following him? Where was she? Could she trust him?_

_He gazed calmly up at her, patiently waiting, expectantly, for her answer. She slipped her hand from around his, and allowed her arms to fall limply at her sides. She swallowed._

"_Who are you?"_

_He turned slowly to face her, as the wind suddenly picked up, and his golden curtain of hair suddenly blew out of his eyes._

_She clapped a hand to her mouth, horrified, and emitted a startled shriek as her husband's bright blue eyes stared back out of a familiar face._

"_I'm Peter."_

_The world about her erupted into chaos. The boy had gone, and she stood alone in the cold, cold, darkening field, the poppies wilting and shriveling up like corpses around her._

_She screamed._

_Swirling voices. The poppy field was tilting violently below her, angry, screaming voices pouring curse upon curse down onto her. She clutched her head and cried out, cold moisture welling in her eyes._

"_Why did you leave us like Dad did?"_

"_How could you!"_

"_We need you…please, Mummy…"_

_Silence._

"_Aslan. She is here."_

_A soft voice said, quietly._

_Her eyes snapped open, to utter darkness. Suddenly, there was an ominous creak, and far ahead a slit of light revealed a blinding whiteness beyond barred doors. She threw her hands over her face, drawing a sharp breath as she squinted into the light._

_A beautiful, kindly, gentle and yet terrifying face gazed sadly upon her with liquid amber eyes._

_A lion._

_And a cloaked, winged figure, dressed all in white._

"_Helen, Daughter of Eve."_

_A terrible, and yet wonderful voice filled her senses with wonder, and she slowly, tentatively, raised her head._

"_Wake up."_

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"You asked to see us, Sir?"

Headmaster Havisham observed the two (rather scruffy and flushed) boys who now stood before him. Their hair was longer than regulation standards, and twigs and leaves adorned the younger's mop of curls.

He wrinkled his nose, as the younger boy scowled darkly at him.

The elder elbowed his brother in the ribs, and smiled weakly at Havisham. The Headmaster could understand the younger being perceived as abnormal, but…really, considering the elder to be insane was quite ridiculous.

Peter and…Edmund, was it? Decent names. And they had entered the school on scholarship, so they clearly possessed at least a little intelligence.

"Yes, yes, indeed. Your gas masks, boys. I assume you have been informed of the impending increase in attacks?"

Havisham pushed his glasses up his nose, and handed each boy a cardboard box containing a gas mask. His eyes narrowed as he observed the ensuing interaction. Peter opened the box cautiously, and lifted it up to inspect the contents at arms length.

Abruptly, he leaned away and choked harshly, slamming the lid shut. The younger brother, Edmund, immediately grabbed the box and the mask away from his brother, his face clouding over with anger as he whirled on the headmaster.

"Are these second hand, by any chance?"

He hissed through gritted teeth. Havisham winced and blinked at the sheer venom in that simple statement, and noted the younger's painfully tight grip on his elder brother's arm.

"Ed, don't! Show some respect."

Thus began a hushed but nonetheless heated argument. Havisham leant back in his leather chair, observing them closely. They had such a…strange relationship these two brothers. Both were very fond of the other, and over protective, too.

They looked nothing like each other, though. He wondered which one took after the father. The elder, probably. Baby faced, blond hair, big blue eyes. He supposed, in some ways, Peter Pevensie looked very much younger than he was.

He could see why the younger was so keen to protect him. He was very…innocent, despite his maturity. Placing trust in even the most hopeless of cases.

It had nearly killed him; that naivety. Though there was no way to prove it, but Havisham had his suspicions. The other boy involved, Peers…had always seemed rather…well…off-balance.

But there was no helping the past.

He raised his hands and made a cutting gesture, and the elder Pevensie froze mid sentence, and blushed. The younger continued to glare, first at his brother, then at Havisham. Havisham repressed a shudder under the boy's intense gaze.

"I apologise, Sir, for my brother's behaviour, and-"

"Oh, give over!"

The younger burst out, interrupting Peter and stepping forward to lean both palms against the Headmaster's desk, fixing Havisham with a solemn, yet still angry expression.

"You listen. My brother has a lung condition. He doesn't react well to remnant of gas or debris from any kind of dense atmosphere. He can't use a second hand gas mask."

Peter shifted uncomfortably, and grabbed for his brother's shoulder, only to have his hand slapped away. He frowned, and protested:

"It's fine, really, Sir. I can go without."

Havisham removed his glasses, and carefully cleaned them with the lapel of his suit. He replaced them, and fixed the eldest Pevensie with a solemn stare.

"And then what, young man? Get caught in an attack, unprepared? You would surely die."

Havisham did not miss the younger boy's shudder at this statement. There was something that ran deeper here. Something hidden, lingering behind these two children's faces.

"Couldn't you get hold of a new one, or at least a clean one?"

Edmund exclaimed, glancing sidelong at his elder brother. Havisham shook his head slowly, feeling grave. It was impossible to attain such things, with the rationing. It was a Godsend that they had enough masks to go around.

However, he had read of repairing methods upon the things in the government leaflets. Yes…there was a way to make the mask more comfortable for the boy.

"This is war, boy. But…if you would go to the hospital wing, and ask Nurse Cathy for some peroxide solution…sieve it through the gas filter, then rinse it out with water. It should come out clean."

Edmund blinked, and squinted at the filter in his brother's mask. He lowered it slowly, looked again to his brother, then reluctantly nodded, murmuring a gruff 'thank you' at his brother's harsh look.

"There, now. To business. Edmund. I have heard you had a recent…ah…incident, with one Peers Jordan?"

Both boy's stiffened considerably, Edmund's hand tightening around Peter's arm. Peter automatically reached up a hand to brush the hair from his face, obviously sensing an upcoming confrontation.

Havisham sighed, and moved a pile of papers on his desk aside to look at the typed memo he had received concerning the incident. A week ago. Punishment postponed due to urgent call away for invalid mother.

He glanced back up at the brothers.

"The matter of punishment must be addressed, I'm afraid. Caning-"

Immediately, both boys surged forwards, the elder pushing the younger aside and drowning Edmund's protests with a steely tone.

"But I was there too!"

Edmund's eyes widened, and then narrowed in anger.

"Peter!"

Peter ignored him, his clear blue eyes focused solely on Havisham. Havisham had the strangest feeling that he was missing something. Some element in this case had not yet been revealed…there was something distinctly mis-fitting about the whole affair.

"I was. And I will say, Sir, on Edmund's behalf-"

Havisham raised his hand once more, and Peter fell silent. The eldest Pevensie drew away from the desk, his eyes seeming to suddenly burn, akin to his brother's intensity just moments earlier.

"I am sorry, Peter. But the truth is the truth. Your brother was witnessed attacking a fellow student, and must face suitable punishment lest he repeat the offence."

Edmund moved to stand beside his brother, and placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to pull Peter away. Peter wrenched away from his brother, turning back to Havisham, his eyes shining with determination.

"But Sir-"

"Shut up, Peter. He's right."

Edmund had finally managed to get his word in edgeways, and the sheer cold certainty in his tone made his brother falter. Peter snapped around to stare disbelievingly at Edmund, almost pleadingly.

Havisham raised an eyebrow.

Very interesting.

"Indeed. There is nothing to be done, young man. Your brother will face punishment. I am sorry, but there is nothing else to be done."

He said firmly, rising from his chair to stand at his full height. He cleared his throat and adjusted his spectacles, staring down imperiously at the two brothers. He sighed, and addressed Peter.

"Do you consent?"

Peter blinked, and suddenly, his desperate clear blue eyes darkened, and filled with something indefinable, indescribable. In the literal blink of an eye, the boy had gone, and in his place stood an adult.

Peter gazed levelly at Havisham, eyes boring into the headmaster's. He seemed to reflect for a moment, a thousand thoughts crossing his face.

Then he slowly, very deliberately, shook his head.

"No."

Havisham was started.

"That is something I cannot do."

Peter held Havisham's gaze for a single moment longer, before he turned abruptly, grabbed his brother's arm and steered them both from the office, silencing his brother's protests with a look.

"Come, Edmund."

He murmured, with an unseen weight behind his quiet tone.

Once the door had snapped softly shut, Havisham stood, gaping, speechless. He snapped his mouth shut, pursing his lips into a thin line.

The situation was far more serious than he had anticipated.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Peter?"

Peter did not look up, his face set in a concentrated frown as he carefully swilled the peroxide around in the filter. He squinted, glancing down at the gathering liquid in the bowl beneath it.

"Yes, Edmund?"

Edmund brought his knees up, resting his feet on the iron edge of the hospital bed. He rested his chin on them, glaring hard at the back of his brother's head.

"That was, quite possibly, the most stupid thing you have ever done in your entire life."

There was a pause, as Peter continued to swirl the peroxide around inside the mask, raising his head to stare out of the hospital wing window.

"Oh, I don't know. I thought accidentally drinking a whole bottle of beer, I mistook it for ginger beer, you see, was pretty dumb…"

Peter said calmly. Edmund blinked, the moment broken. A tiny grin forced its way across reluctant lips, and he raised an eyebrow.

"You did that? When?"

Peter laughed lightly, and turned to lean against the bedside cabinet, setting the mask down on a towel. He ran a hand through his hair and smiled reminiscently.

"When I was seven. I think I got drunk, actually. Nearly gave Dad a heart attack, staggering around the kitchen all squinty eyed."

Edmund laughed, the image which his imagination conjured too amusing to ignore. Peter rolled his eyes, grinning, and emptied the soiled water down the counter sink. He turned on the faucet, filling the bowl with clean water.

Edmund suddenly frowned.

"Hey! You changed the subject."

Peter stiffened, and then his shoulders slumped. He sighed, turning to face his brother, taking up the gas mask for yet another filtering session. Edmund glared at him until his brother could no longer ignore it, and Peter reluctantly met his gaze.

"Damn. And I was doing so well, too."

He said, a weak twinkle of amusement in his eyes. Edmund, however, didn't stop frowning. Peter sighed again, and absentmindedly ruffled Edmund's hair affectionately.

"I'll never get anything past you, hmm, Ed?"

He said quietly. He sounded so sad, so defeated, that Edmund's face fell, and he drew in a deep, shuddering breath. He leant his head against the cold iron bedstead, allowing his eyes to slip shut.

"You can't win this, you know. They won't let up."

He muttered. He felt the bed shift, rusty springs creaking as Peter sat down beside him. Eyes still tightly shut, Edmund was acutely aware as the scent of peppermint invaded his senses.

Peter said nothing, merely let out another quiet sigh, and Edmund felt an arm wrap around his shoulders. Edmund turned, pressing his head into what he soon identified as the crook of his brother's neck.

Peter did not relax, but remained stiffened. Edmund winced, silently cursing his brother's stubbornness.

"What are you going to do, fight them all off single handed?"

His voice came out muffled. He felt Peter's chest heave slightly beneath him, and a hitching breath. Soft hair tickled his cheek as Peter leant his own head atop Edmund's.

"If I have to, Ed."

Peter whispered, his grip around his brother tightening.

"If I have to."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

**A/N: Enough fluff for you lot, hmm?**

**Next chapter: Well, actually, I'm not too sure. Could go either way…(plots)**

**Cifel: (sulking)**

**Cedric: Yay, I've joined the post-chapter A/N! Now, let me see…ah yes. (clears throat) kindly review, good, wonderful readers of this story!**

**Cifel: …we're doomed…**

**R E V I E W for Narnia! And for Aslan! (you wouldn't say no to Aslan, now, would you?)**


	19. Full of Grace

**A/N: Ack, this story is moving so slowly! Good God, I need to get my lazy ass in gear…ah well. I hope you guys like it, anyway! Enjoy!**

**(Huggles all reviewers) You guys are my heroes! Keep them coming!**

**Disclaimer: Narnia belongs solely to CS Lewis, and I sincerely hope he will not mind me borrowing his characters for a slight variation (cough cough) on his story. **

**Warnings: Nothing really. As ever, a little blood spilt.**

**Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.**

_This is Peter_

**_This is Edmund_**

Mistaken Perception

Part One: Late Arrivals

**_Chapter eighteen: Tuesday's child is full of grace_**

"Now, I've used half of the mint leaves to make the solution for the inhaler. The other half is for emergences, and I also made a small salve, just in case. I trust you know how to apply the solution, Pevensie?"

Apparently, the prescribed leaves by the Doctor which Lucy had given him had been put to good use. Nurse Cathy brandished a pointed, bony finger, meticulously going over the instructions for the fifth time.

"Yes, thank you, Nurse."

Peter murmured, and took the small phial, tub and packet of leaves. He sighed as the strong, overpowering scent of peppermint filled the air about him once more. It was a little sickening, at times, the bitter tang and aftertaste causing bile to rise in his throat.

But it was better than choking to death, as Father had once said.

Nurse Cathy huffed, straightened her apron, and turned on her heel, striding away. Peter rolled his eyes at Edmund, raising his chin and puffing out his chest in an uncanny imitation. Edmund had to stuff his fist in his mouth to keep himself from laughing.

Peter looked from the varied concoctions in his hand, to the gas mask and still half swilled water, and sighed.

"Oh, bother. I don't have five hands! And these need to be stored away somewhere dry quickly, too…"

Edmund stood, and gently took the supplies from Peter's open palms.

"I'll take them. The metal box in your trunk, right?"

Peter nodded, smiling gratefully, and ruffled Edmund's hair with his now free hand. He frowned, as he noticed that he now had to reach up in order to do so. Edmund was a mere inch shorter than he was, now.

"Honestly, Ed. You hardly eat, and yet you get so big. At this rate, I'll end up with a big little brother!"

Edmund raised an eyebrow at that, turning the phial in his hand, eying the instructions for inhaler purposes carefully. Peter sighed, and rolled up his sleeves, lifting the gas mask once more.

"Whatever happened to little Eddy?"

Peter said, quietly. Too quietly. Edmund glanced up, frown deepening. His brother's eyes had darkened with sadness; his head bent low over the bowl, staring down at his reflection with something akin to disgust in his eyes.

Edmund felt an uneasy feeling fill the pit of his stomach.

"You know I'll always be here; don't you? Peter?"

Peter dunked the gas mask rather too violently into the water, and let out a wispy sigh. He smiled weakly, and shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Ed. It's just…"

He trailed off, and looked at Edmund, who gazed back for a moment, before he smiled. He moved over to stand beside his brother, and caught him in a brief, one armed hug, leaning his forehead against his brother's temple.

"I know."

He drew away, and Peter managed a small, if sad, smile in return. There was a long silence, before Edmund cleared his throat, and shifted his weight.

"Well, I'll go put this in your room."

He said, awkwardly, and Peter nodded, clasping Edmund's shoulder briefly.

"Yeah. Thanks, Edmund. I'll be there soon."

Edmund nodded, and turned, half-jogging to the door. Peter watched his retreating back, his face falling, smile disappearing. Edmund froze, and halted in his pace, as though he sensed his brother's gaze.

He turned slowly, to meet his brother's guarded, questioning eyes. He hesitated, as a flicker of emotion flitted across Peter's face.

Then it had gone.

Edmund inwardly sighed, and shook his head very slightly, turning once more. He glanced over his shoulder, calling back at his brother with an unreadable tone.

"I'll be waiting. Don't be long."

The door abruptly slammed shut, and swung upon shrilly rusty hinges for a moment. Peter swallowed thickly, still staring unblinkingly at the space which Edmund had just vacated.

"I won't."

He whispered.

_I just…need time._

He drew in a shuddering breath, and turned reluctantly back to the waiting bowl and mask. He lifted the wretched thing once more, and gently dipped it into the water. His brow furrowed, face troubled.

He started as a soft, polite voice broke the still quiet of the ward.

"Peter Pevensie, I presume?"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The blood drained from Edmund's face, as he stood rigidly still beside the bed. The door creaked ominously as it swayed too and fro on squeaky hinges. He gazed down at the disturbed blankets upon the bed, his heart beginning to beat painfully fast.

A large metal box, neatly labelled with the name of the owner, 'Peter M I Pevensie'.

It lay wide open, lid torn from the main body. The contents were strewn across the dark grey of the sheets beneath it. Or at least, all the useless contents. Any excess supplies had gone.

Including a small, blue inhaler.

His hands balled into fists, and he began to shake. He stared down at the practically empty box, empty, that was, apart from a small, clearly visible, upturned piece of paper which bore the following words:

_Lost something? You're about to lose a lot more. _

_This game has only just begun._

He let out a strangled snarl, and lashed out, sending the box and the offending note flying across the room and slamming into the skirting board below the window. Frustrated, he satheavily down on the bed.

He watched as the slip of paper slid serenely to the floor, and gritted his teeth, leaning his hands on his knees. He pinched the bridge of his nose and drew in a deep, trembling breath.

Then slowly raised his head, eyes darkened.

_**So. This is how it is.**_

He allowed his eyes to slip shut, and was plunged into darkness.

_**This time…this time, I'll be ready. I won't lose him again.**_

He lay back on the bed, eyes slowly drifting open to gaze up at the ceiling.

_**Aslan…Dad…if there was ever a time to lend me strength, now would be it.**_

_**Please.**_

_**I can't do this alone.**_

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thomas Evesham was not an entirely unkind man. He just preferred to remain distant, from the emotions of others. A rather strange trait for a Doctor of psychiatry, but he found that detaching himself from the subject made them easier to study.

He pulled a look of solemn sincerity over his stoic features, and studied the tense young man before him. Peter Pevensie had always intrigued him, especially since his return from evacuation.

Something had changed in the boy. And Evesham was determined to discover what it was…some sort of trauma, resulting in a personality contortion, perhaps?

He walked slowly forward, drew a breath, and clapped a hand down on the boy's shoulder. Peter wrinkled his nose, and looked at it in unmasked disgust.

"We need to have a little talk, Peter."

Peter shrugged his hand off, and Evesham could almost see the spiralling web of a mental shield forming in the boy's eyes. The guarded expression; he had seen it many times. Otherwise known as a 'poker face'.

But eyes were the window to the soul. And he was good with windows. Worked as a window cleaner when he was young, but that was beside the point.

"What could you possibly have to say to me?"

Peter said quietly, almost to himself. Evesham smiled, and moved to stand beside him, gazing out of the window. Peter leant away, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

Evesham chuckled.

"You appear to be taking after your brother."

Peter blinked, and turned his head slowly to fix Evesham with a narrowed gaze.

"With respect, Sir. I would consider that a compliment. I hope you intended it as such."

Evesham outright laughed at this, and brushed an invisible speck of dust from his lapel. He fumbled in the pocket of his robes, and withdrew a small packet of peardrops.

He graciously offered one to Peter, who shook his head stiffly, and Evesham shrugged. He popped a lemon one into his mouth, before speaking.

"It is a matter of perception, is it not? I may consider it an insult. You may consider it a compliment. Which is the truth? Is there any way to tell?"

Peter's eyes flashed dangerously.

"Is there any reason you're spouting philosophical rubbish at me?"

There was a moment's pause, before Peter relented, blushed lightly and turned away.

"Sorry, Sir."

He muttered. Evesham smiled. There was hope for this boy yet, that much was certain. Unlike his brother, this one still maintained some small control over his conflicting emotions.

"I will be forward with you, Peter. There has been speculation. Speculation which has spawned action, I am afraid."

Peter's eyes narrowed, and he clasped his hands behind his back, shifting his weight. His knuckles had turned white. Evesham smiled. The earliest signs of primitive defence instinct; forcing the body to go tense.

"I don't need it gift wrapped. Get to the point."

Peter said coldly, and Evesham's face fell. He had provoked yet another unwanted reaction. Perhaps he had underestimated this particular subject? Perhaps a new level of subconscious penetration was needed?

He softened his voice to a purposely condescending, reproving tone, and fixed the boy with a stony stare.

"Your lack of respect gives you no credit, you know. Very well. We believe you and your brother are a bad influence on each other."

Peter stiffened, and his head snapped abruptly around, that burning flame which hid so many of his emotions kindling to a blaze. Evesham felt a smothered sense of accomplishment.

"Like two opposing sides of a magnet. Quant in certain circumstances, yet a nuisance in others. You are henceforth banned from seeing each other unless specifically authorised."

Evesham demonstrated with his hands, first showing two magnets attracting, then being forced to repel. He watched the boy's face carefully, and was confused to see a certain lack of reaction. Was he in shock? Surely not…

Very slowly, a frown formed on the boy's face, and he sighed quietly. Evesham continued, slightly perturbed, after a long silence.

"I take it your silence implies discontent?"

Peter brusquely brushed his hair from his face, appearing no more than irritated. He raised an eyebrow at Evesham, and crossed his arms, glancing the teacher up and down, studyingEvesham with distain.

Evesham felt suddenly uncomfortable. Never before had he felt as though he was the one being studied. The boy's piercing sky blue gaze seemed to look right through him.

And then, the boy began to speak, in a soft, dangerous voice.

"You know, Sir. I've met a lot of people like you. People who believe they have the right to hold authority over others; just because they can string a few fancy words together."

Evesham bristled, somewhat off balance. It was not said with venom, but with a quiet dignity which spoke of experience. This was more than he could have ever hoped for. Mentally unbalanced, and wits still sharper than the pencil tucked behind his ear!

This was a truly rare subject indeed. Masking his glee, he played his part, and frowned, forcing an angry flush onto his face.

"You refuse to submit, then?"

He said, managing to inject some cold, slightly shaky superiority into his tone. The boy's eyebrow rose just a fraction, and his lips curled into the merest hint of a smirk.

"Evidently."

It was more of a statement than an offensive term. As though the subject was no longer valid, the boy took up his gas mask, tucked it neatly under his arm, and turned to leave.

"Your insolence will only make your suffering all the worse, in the end."

Peter Pevensie swivelled slowly on the spot, frowning. Evesham immediately knew he had overdone it. Too much emphasis placed upon the anger in his voice, perhaps? Was it too much?

"I do not find this act amusing, Sir. Save drama skills for the drama students. I can tell you are not so easily angered. Whatever you want from Edmund and I…you'd better be ready to fight for it."

Peter stated bluntly, shifting his gas mask under his arm. He stared for a moment more at Evesham, before dropping his gaze. He took a single step, and then spoke once more, without looking back.

"And is it really insolence? I, for one, call it liberty. But after all…it's all a matter of perception, as you say so yourself."

Evesham, for the very first time in his life, found that he had nothing to say in return to that.

"Excuse me, Sir."

The boy said rather sarcastically, before calmly pushing the door open and allowing it to swing shut behind him with a soft thud. Evesham stood still for a moment, replaying the past few moments in his minds eye as he listened to Peter Pevensie's echoing, retreating footsteps.

As he heard the footsteps suddenly turn into frenzied running, he allowed a small smile to curl across his lips.

"Well, that went well."

This was about to get a whole lot more interesting.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Edmund hurried down the corridor, heading back for the hospital wing, his thoughts racing. He breathed heavily desperately trying to balance panic with anger. The adrenaline pounded furiously through his veins, making his head ache.

He rounded a corner, and cried out as he slammed into something. He rebounded off a track-suit clad belly, and felt his heart plummet down to his stomach.

From his poor vantage on the corridor floor, he slowly looked up, to meet the gleaming black eyes of Mr Henley.

Brilliant timing to release the guy from hospital. He would have laughed at the thought of how they unglued the trainers from Henley's feet, had he not been gazing straight into a face contorted with sadistic pleasure.

He swallowed dryly as Henley grinned with yellowing teeth, and grabbed his elbow, jerking him to his feet. Edmund felt his blood run cold as he saw the long, thin implement in the teacher's hand.

"You and me need to have a talk, little Pevensie. By order of the head 'imself."

Edmund winced as he was roughly dragged down the corridor, his elbow held in a bruising grip. He struggled, and almost succeeded in breaking free when Henley's next words stopped him dead.

"And p'haps a little more besides, eh? C'mon! Don't wanna have to get ya brother involved, now, do we?"

His eyes widened, and he slumped, going limp, and hung his head in defeat.

No.

There was no need to get Peter involved.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, neither the teacher nor the boy noticed the abrupt halt in a pair of running footsteps at the other end of the corridor; nor the silent figure which proceeded to mirror their progress through the shadows.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

**That may be, Ed, but who's stopping Peter from getting himself involved?**

**A/N: Woo, go Peter! Oops, getting a little involved here…hope you guys liked it! Next chapter: the fun REALLY begins!**

**Oh yeah! For reference sake, here is the poem which inspired the chapter titles for the next few updates: I'm sure you've all heard of it!**

**Mondays child is fair of face,  
Tuesdays child is full of grace,  
Wednesdays child is full of woe,  
Thursdays child has far to go,  
Fridays child is loving and giving,  
Saturdays child works hard for his living,  
And the child that is born on the Sabbath day  
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.**

**I thought the layout of days could go like this; I wasn't sure which days to give them all. What do you guy's think? Did I give them the right days? I really wasn't sure whether to give Susan Monday or Tuesday…**

**Monday and Tuesday are for Susan, but she was actually born on a Monday.**

**Wednesday and Thursday are for Edmund, but he was actually born on a Thursday.**

**Friday and Saturday are for Peter, and he was born on a Friday (best day of the week!)**

**And Sunday is for Lucy!**

**Simon (aka mini Peter from dream and had a small role in IS): (glances around nervously) Um…yeah. Cedric and Cifel are kinda…out of it, right now, so I'll be doing the A/N. (Clears throat) Review please! (gives china blue puppy dog eyes)**

**R E V I E W for Narnia! And for Aslan! (you wouldn't say no to Aslan, now, would you? No, of course you wouldn't. I already know you wouldn't!)**


	20. Full of Woe

**A/N: Wow, you guys liked Peter in the last chapter! I figured he deserved to show a little action before he gets completely undermined by Ed's determination. Happy reading!**

**You guys make me get up in the morning! Keep reviewing, I'll keep writing, and we'll all be happy! **

**Disclaimer: Narnia belongs solely to CS Lewis, and I sincerely hope he will not mind me borrowing his characters for a slight variation (cough cough) on his story. **

**Warnings: Nothing really. As ever, a little blood spilt.**

**Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.**

_This is Peter in flashback_

'_This is Peter'_

**_This is Edmund_**

Mistaken Perception

Part One: Late Arrivals

**_Chapter nineteen: Wednesday's child is full of woe_**

Lucy tossed the cricket ball up, and watched in morose fascination as it slapped down into her reddening palm. She blew her hair out of her face, and tossed it again, up, and down, up, and down.

Her back was reassuringly pressed against the solid wood of the wardrobe. Somehow, it was more comforting than painful to sit by it now.

A moist cloth sat beside her, blood stained. The Professor had asked her if she would be so kind as to clean up the mess her brother's had left. She had taken one look at the dusted bottom of the wardrobe, the mothballs, and the off balance coats, and turned it into full out war against spring cleaning.

It had been strangely satisfying; now she sat, admiring the beautifully shining surface of the ornate panelling, the cleanly freshened fur of the coats, the neat rows of winter boots.

It was bright day outside; the sun was shining, not a cloud in the sky. Yet she felt no desire to venture out into the garden.

No matter how blue the sky was, how green the grass, how cool the refreshing breath of the wind…it was never quite as divine as that of Narnia. She feared she would never be satisfied.

But for now, the mere memory would have to do.

Just for now.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Peter had never expected it to come to this; slinking through shadows, avoiding shafts of moonlight on the varnished floor. He could feel panic rising swiftly in the pit of his stomach, as a million thoughts flitted across his mind like slides on a screen.

'_Edmund…why does trouble always come to find you?'_

He kept out of sight, so that he only just caught sight of Edmund's feet as he was dragged around each corner. It was so deathly quiet, the slightest breath he drew sounded like a gale in the empty corridors.

He felt light headed, misbalanced. He slid with ease through the shadows, wraith like, mirroring the path of his quarry. It almost felt like a dream, his movements vaguely sluggish, taking a few moments to answer the will of his mind.

'_How much sleep did I get last night? None? Damn.'_

Up ahead, there was the creak of the gym doors being pushed abruptly open. Peter swallowed, and glanced sidelong around the edge of the corner at the end of the gym corridor, the blood roaring in his ears. He absently rubbed his temple, and, after a hasty glance around him, crept slowly forwards.

His feet seemed to move in slow motion; toes, the knuckled ridge, arch, heel. Toes, knuckled ridge, arch, heel. The softest of impacts upon the cold wood beneath him.

Coupled with the wild beatings of his heart, it became an ominous rhythm, pulsating. As he drew closer and closer, snatches of raised voices managed to penetrate his clouded consciousness.

"…till ya bleed, if y're lucky. And then-"

'_What?'_

Peter froze, just beside the door, breathing fast and shallow. An acidic burning was filling his chest, and every fibre of being seemed to tremble with pent-up emotion.

"If you're trying to intimidate me, don't bother. Just-"

_Ed, you blockhead. Don't provoke him…_

He peered through the glass at the top of the gym doors, and felt his heart plummet downwards with sick clarity. His blood ran cold, and his hands balled into fists.

The door was partly ajar, and through it, he could see Edmund standing rigidly still in the very centre of the gym. He was facing away from the door, so Peter could not see his pallor or his features.

Henley stood mere feet away from Edmund, fondling a long, thin cane, the sort that was strong but segmented. Peter gripped the edge of the doorway tightly, clenching his eyes tightly shut.

"…see what ya got, hmm, kid? This'll 'urt me more than it 'urts you."

There was a whistling, whip like crack like a gunshot as the cane cut through the air.

Before a nauseating whack and a stifled cry of pain made Peter's eyes fly open.

_There was a glint of metal, a wispy swishing sound as the blade swung through the air, and a sickening crunching sound._

Peter doubled over, breathing harshly, shaking with anger. His eyes remained upon his brother's now hunched figure, as Henley drew the cane back with a drunken leer.

_Edmund's trembling, unconscious body in his arms was simply too sickeningly real for him to grasp any futile hope that this was some illusion._

Peter clapped a restraining hand to his mouth.

'_No. This…is all wrong…'_

Peter felt a searing, burning power flood his senses, and he stiffened, then slowly uncurled himself. He unwrapped his arms from around his back, his vision clouding over with a blackened edge.

'_How…**dare**…they…'_

He had no sword to reach for; no saving grace, no warm, soothing presence beside him to ease his burden. There was a second crack and a muffled cry of agony, and Peter felt something snap inside him.

_Icy shards were tearing him apart from the inside out. He no longer felt, he no longer breathed. _

Peter slammed his full weight against the door, throwing himself forwards and stumbling unevenly to his feet. Edmund's head snapped around, and his dark eyes, narrowed with pain, suddenly widened in shock.

'_I won't let them do this.'_

Peter made to dash forwards, when he was suddenly jerked backwards with a vicious jolt. He gritted his teeth and felt despair pound upon his heart with resounding blows.

Strong arms had wrapped tightly around his chest, constricting his breathing further, and his breath hitched. He gritted his teeth, struggling in the grip, which held his arms immobile.

"No, let him go! He's-AGH!"

'_NO!'_

Peter went terribly still as the swishing sound broke the turmoil once again, harder and faster this time, and he saw Edmund's face scrunch up in pain as he cried out. Then descended a rain of blows, rhythmic, beating down mercilessly upon Edmund's exposed back.

A violent shudder of rage surged through Peter's already shaking frame, and his world was plunged into chaos.

Everything became blurred. He jerked backwards, his spine arching unnaturally, and the back of his head collided with somebody's chin with a shattering impact. There was a sharp cry of pain, and the arms about his chest loosened.

"Peter **_NO!_**"

He took a single, gasping breath like a drowning man, as he abruptly fell to the floor, landing crouched, like a creature readying itself to pounce. There was an animalistic, angered growl from behind him, and something slammed into his back, hard. He went sprawling forwards with a strangled cry.

_I promised I would protect him._

"Stop it! Stop hurting him!"

Everything lost focus; vague sensations of overwhelming surges of pain pummeling at his body, his mind, but he could feel his body moving of its own accord, instinctively launching forward.

_I promised._

"Get back, boy! Get back afore I…bloody hell…OI!"

There was something smooth and thin in his hand, slick with blood and sweat. And then, he had crushed it, snapped the structure like a dry twig. The splinters dug into his fist, as a face, puce with anger yet pale with fear, swam before his sluggish vision.

_I promised him._

"Peter, stop it!"

He snarled, his lungs burning for oxygen, his limbs aching with lack of energy. Something prickled in the back of his mind, sending a tingle throughout his body, and he struck out with a hand which had curved automatically into a fist.

_I never break my promises._

He felt bone shatter like a frail spider's web beneath his knuckles, and the face disappeared, falling down impossibly slowly. Suddenly, he hesitated, as blood roared in his ears.

He blinked, and half heartedly forced his muscles to move, his chest only managing to rise a fraction.

His eyes widened, and he gasped an empty breath.

'_I…can't breathe…'_

And then he was falling.

"**_PETER!_**"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lucy shivered, a foreboding chill creeping up her spine. She brushed the hair from her face, and turned the faucet further round, putting the flow of water on full blast. He scowled, as it slowly filled the vase, thinking.

Strange though it was, she was rather taken with this whole 'cleaning' ordeal. It took her mind off other things; and provided something for her itching hands to do.

God, she felt so useless.

She had taken to mapping out possible courses for the future in her mind, as she worked at scrubbing surfaces and dispelling the dust in long forgotten corners. Even if their mother recovered…when the war ended, they would not have enough money.

Mother had worked part time in a seamstress shop, sewing fine clothes for the upper class. That had all gone down the drain once the war began, though with the rationing. And even if they had maintained that particular income…it would not be enough. Not nearly enough.

And if mother didn't recover…

Lucy felt damp soak in her cardigan, and she cursed lightly, hastily turning of the faucet at the water overflowed over the edge of the bowl and spilled onto the floor. She set the china blue vase aside, and grabbed a nearby towel, dropping to her knees to soak up the spillage.

She sighed, and began again, this time watching the flow from the faucet with concentrated precision.

She supposed it was all she could do; stand by and idle while others fought her battles…then slowly, painstakingly, pick up the pieces.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Edmund lurched forward, his back screaming with agony as he did so, but he paid it no heed. Peter had frozen and seemed to hesitate, slamming down to his knees on the floor. He slumped forwards, leaning on the heels of his palms.

Edmund watched in horror as his brother raised his head, blinked, then seemed to open his mouth in surprise. His china blue eyes filled with drowsy alarm.

Before they rolled back in his head, and he sagged forwards like a rag doll.

"**_PETER!_**"

Edmund caught him beneath the arms before his head hit the floor, his throat hoarse as the cry died on his lips. He flipped his brother frenziedly over onto his back, poisonous, leaden terror filling his mind with venom.

_**Oh, God…oh God…**_

Peter's shoulder blades dug into Edmund's knees, and his head lolled unnaturally limp to the side as Edmund wrenched him up. Edmund leant down, one hand flying to his brother's chest.

Nothing.

No movement.

Peter wasn't breathing.

Edmund shook his head, a hot rush of pure, agonizing terror washing over him in searing waves. He moved a hand to Peter's neck, and felt a racing pulse, erratic, and rapidly slowing.

Edmund dragged Peter's limp body upright, using one arm to hold him and using the other to pound against his brother's back with a flat palm. Father had taught him how to do this, long ago.

He had hoped he would never have to use it. Had thought…somehow…that Dad would always be there to do it for him.

But he wasn't.

"Peter, no, don't do this to me…come on…breathe…"

He murmured feverishly in his brother's ear. Peter was deathly pale, not a trace of blood in his skin, and his lips were slowly turning a sickly blue.

The inhaler had been taken. There was nothing at hand. It wasn't working. No matter how hard he pounded at his brother's back, Peter wouldn't respond.

"God damnit, Peter, BREATHE!"

There was no other way. Dad had said, thirty seconds, too long. It had been about twenty seven. Edmund turned Peter over once more, one hand supporting his brother's head, the other pinching his nose.

"Please…come on…"

He took a deep, bursting breath, and ducked abruptly down, smashing his mouth against Peter's. He breathed out with all his might, forcing the stale air into his brother's starved lungs. He drew away, and waited, rigid with fear, his heart banging against his ribs.

Nothing. Edmund felt his eyes sting, and took another deep, gasping breath, before he froze.

Peter convulsed, and suddenly lurched upright, his eyes snapping open, and began to cough harshly, struggling desperately to draw air with his exhausted muscles. Edmund almost collapsed with relief, and grabbed his brother's shoulders, drawing Peter's shaking back against his own chest.

"Shhhhh…shh, Peter, just breathe. Breathe with me."

He rocked them both gently, trying to quell the trembling of exertion in his own limbs as Peter continued to heave dryly. Edmund could hear the breath rattling in his brother's sore chest, and he rubbed Peter's arm absently, continuing to make shushing sounds.

It felt so surreal; a brother, doing a father's job. Maybe now he could truly understand Peter's pain.

And that way, he could help to relieve it.

"…mund…? ..re…you…"

Edmund drew his brother closer, feeling the full weight of the past few moments infiltrate his consciousness. He had nearly lost him. _Again. _He had sworn never to let that happen.

He had failed.

"No, don't speak. Save your strength, you'll need it."

Father had said that. Before, long before, on a beach beside the sea. Sand stained with crimson and the slush of vomit, and the smell of peppermint tainted with copper.

Edmund shivered.

A hand touched his shoulder, and Edmund opened his eyes to see the colour was slowly returning to his brother's face, Peter's cheeks flushed, but his gaze still sluggish.

"…not…fault…mine…"

Peter's dulled eyes shined with desperation, trying to convey an unspoken message. Edmund nodded, managing a small, understanding smile. Peter slumped against him, his lips twitching upwards as his eyes fluttered drowsily closed.

"…knew…you'd catch me…Ed…"

Edmund felt his eyes well up, and he shook his head, leaning his forehead against his brother's burning one.

_**Thank you, Dad…**_

The gym had fallen eerily silent, heavy breathing the only sound filling the room. Suddenly, Edmund flinched as a loud bang announced the door being thrown open.

There was a terrible silence, then:

"What in the name of **_GOD _**happened here!"

Edmund smiled bitterly, clenching his eyes tightly shut, and clutched Peter closely to him. He drowned out the raised voices and shied away from the prying hands.

Right now, the only thing that could hurt him lay quietly still in his arms.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Short, but sweet.**

**A/N: This chapter was a bit of a risk. I will state, this is NOT SLASH. That incident was strictly CPR. **

**After all, some people have to do that sort of thing to a random stranger who happens to stop breathing…rather inconsiderate, if you ask me, but hey…nobody does, so…I'll shut up now…**

**Cifel: (panting) Well, it was a long, hard fight, but finally, I, Lucifel, rule the A/N once again. There is absolutely no way the little runt could have escaped from the-**

**Cedric: I'm baaaaaaaack!**

**Cifel: (censored cursing)**

**R E V I E W FOR PETER! AND FOR EDMUND! Now, you would NEVER say no to them, would you? WOULD YOU?**


	21. Far to Go

**A/N: SORRY SORRY SORRY! My computer went spazzed and FF. net refused to load my account! Sorry all. It's here now!**

**A lot of you are missing Edmund hurt. Alright, you want Edmund hurt? I'll give you Edmund hurt! (Grins) I been overloading on the Peter angst recently.**

**Would you believe, I got THREE boxes of Turkish delight for my birthday? I think I have to be more subtle…**

**Disclaimer: Narnia belongs solely to CS Lewis, and I sincerely hope he will not mind me borrowing his characters for a slight variation (cough cough) on his story. **

**Warnings: Nothing really. As ever, a little blood spilt.**

**Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.**

_This is Peter in flashback_

'_This is Peter'_

**_This is Edmund_**

"_This is the bird…don't ask…"_

Mistaken Perception

Part One: Late Arrivals

**_Chapter twenty one: Friday's child is loving and giving_**

_It was dark. It was always dark. Suffocating, with the frosted glass upon the door pane sending yellowed, sickly shadows dancing across the floorboards._

_He stood alone in the centre of his hallway, barefoot, the cold wood beneath the arch of his heel smoothly solid. He stood beside the banister, a soft ticking seeming to sound right beside his ear._

_He snapped his head around, following the soft tick, tock, tick, tock. The grandfather clock was not there. Of course not. It had stood in the attic for years now, its pendulum still swinging idly from side to side._

_And yet the ticking persisted. _

_Like a curse, a warning. Time. You're running out of time. Get out. You have to get out. A dreadful wailing swelled, the air raid siren, mimicking the desperate cry of a woman._

_He did not move as the floor beneath his feet began to shake, and the whirring of approaching engines dipping up and down filled the sky above. He had never been here. This was not his memory._

_And yet he watched, every night, and waited. The planes above him were not German. The siren had never sounded. There were no sirens, not in this war. He was not even born yet._

_At least, he didn't think he was._

_A thundering of feet, and the ticking sound swelled, growing quicker, and the ground swaying beneath his feet. He looks up, expectantly, at the top of the stairs, and a pale figure clad in plain white appears at the top of the stairs. Her face is masked in shadow. _

_In her arms, she carries a small, still bundle. Her hair is dishevelled, loose, hanging in vibrant ringlets about her face; younger, less lined, than the one he knew. Knows._

_She glances towards the door, a pulsating light from the dying gaslight outside illuminating the hallway. Slowly, very slowly, she descends down the stairs, her feet making soft pads as she hits each step._

_She does not clutch the banister, but uses both hands to hold her precious bundle closer to her. From his vantage point, he saw, as he always did, soft white linen cotton wrapped securely about it._

_As she reaches the bottom step, so close to him he can hear her rapid breathing, he cranes his neck to see around the head of the banister. She turns to face the door, and the bundle resting against her shoulder gives a tiny squirm and shifts with a soft coo._

_A thatch of criss-crossed, tufted golden hair appears from beneath the folds of the blanket linen, and a small, slightly pink face, scrunched in discontent turns to face him._

_The child's mother notices her son's discomfort, and shifts him higher on her shoulder, moving a hand to gently brush his head._

"_Shhh, sweetheart. Hush. It's just me, it's just Mummy. Shh."_

_She moves away, and he blindly follows, transfixed by the now content baby, whose thumb has slipped into his mouth. A tiny smile is just visible around it. He's so small. So very small._

_A loud thump sounds upstairs, and she jumps, jostling her shoulder. His breath hitches, as the child gives a high pitched squeak and flinches, huge, drowsy sky blue eyes sliding slowly open._

_He had often thought babies were distinctly strange creatures; with their eyes too big for their heads, their chubby cheeks, and somehow sinister innocence to the dangers of the world. _

_The child begins to whimper, and she rocks him absently, rubbing his back softly._

"_Hush, Peter darling. It was just Mummy, silly Mummy. Shh."_

_This time he is not mollified, and instead begins to squirm, a single hand, the same size as that of a dolls, curling itself in her nightgown. The child rubbed at his eyes with a tiny fist, arching his back and glancing around._

_He blinks widely as he catches sight of Edmund, standing still and frozen beside the banister. Edmund can only stare, and the child stares back, cocking his head to the side with curiosity._

_A small grin splits the child's face, and he giggles, reaching out that tiny hand to bat at Edmund. Automatically, Edmund reaches out his own hand, sluggish, extending his little finger._

_There is disappointment on both sides when the tiny fist closes on thin air, Edmund's finger spectral and translucent. The chubby face scrunches up in impending anguish, eyes filling with shining tears._

_Edmund leaps backwards as the child throws his head back and emits a mighty cry, wailing, and the woman nearly drops him. The world begins to spin once more, screaming and the frenzied hushing voice, and the deafening ticking growing louder._

_Colours blur and fade into each other, the blackness gathering together, the wails of the baby fading until only the wretched ticking remained._

_He is afraid to look up; he knows what he shall find should he do so._

_Almost of its own accord, his head rises._

_A pair of china blue eyes._

_Peter? No…_

_No. this was…impossible. Utterly impossible. Those eyes were too wise to be Peter's, the lines about them too deep. The face too worn by sorrow._

_Dad?_

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Peter winced as a gnarled hand pinched his nose and practically forced the bitter, gelatinous substance down his throat. He coughed as the bottle was moved away, turning his head away as bile rose in his chest.

A burning sensation spread throughout his thorax, and he wheezed for a few moments, feeling the passage to his lungs clearing. He clenched his eyes tightly shut, and leant his head back against the hard metal of the hospital bed.

"…off me, woman, I'm fine!"

"Nonsense, Mr Evesham! My, that looks tender. Not broken, thankfully. A broken jaw would stop you from talking altogether."

Peter felt vague recognition penetrate his brain. So that was who he had restrained him. Broken jaw? His head must be harder than he thought. Actually, now he thought about it, the back of his skull did feel a bit bruised.

What…had happened?

There had been…Henley…the gym, and…something thin and brittle in his hand…

_EDMUND!_

Peter gasped and snapped upright, nearly cracking foreheads with a very surprised looking Mr Havisham. The headmaster abruptly yelped, and leapt backwards as though he had just come face to face with a tiger in a cage.

"Good heavens, headmaster, get a hold of yourself! He's naught but a child-"

"A CHILD! This young man nearly broke my jaw, Nurse!"

Evesham spat, and Peter felt the darkened remnants of his previous anger rise half heartedly in his chest. His head bowed, he let out a soft, sinister chuckle.

"With all due respect, Sir…attack is the better form of defence."

He said quietly, as he swung his legs neatly over the side of the bed. Immediately, all adults started forwards, halting abruptly as he froze. He blinked, gazing around at their apprehensive faces.

They were…afraid of him, now?

'_Well…good.'_

Peter shivered, but repressed the lingering sense of guilt with a fresh wave of anger. They had been keeping him from Edmund. His family, Edmund especially…was worth the respect of a thousand adults.

He ran a hand through his hair, attempting to restore some semblance of order, and straightened his blazer and tie, fixing the button on the cuffs. They watched him in stony silence, clearly confused.

"Where is my brother?"

He said quietly, snatching up a thin roll of bandages from the bedside cabinet. He snapped of a reasonable sized piece with his fingers, and hastily wrapped the gauze about the deep welts on his palm. Nobody spoke, and Peter raised his head.

"Where is Edmund?"

He addressed Evesham, who appeared distinctly put out. He saw the dark bruising which marred the teacher's jaw, and felt not a flicker of remorse. Evesham was the enemy now; as the Witch had been.

And he showed his enemies no mercy; not here. In Narnia, in the Golden Age, with chances of redemption, yes. But not here, in this dangerous world. This world full of sin.

"That is none of your concern, boy. You will face punishment for-"

Peter stood so fast that they all moved away, the Nurse placing a hand to her chest and growing white in the face.

"I will do nothing; until I see that my brother is safe."

There was a deathly silence, as Havisham, who was backed against the wall, bristled quietly, face turning red. Havisham gazed levelly back at Peter, a slow smile curling his lips.

"You have a choice, Peter Pevensie. And I warn you, I am being lenient. Either you go quietly, and accept whatever punishment we may assign you, or your brother will complete his interrupted punishment. Now."

Peter did not move. His mind was racing. This was a good deal…he must really have made an impression. Edmund was evidently out of danger, for now, and they were offering to let the punishment go in exchange for his own cooperation.

He nodded carefully, and Havisham huffed in glee, moving forwards to the centre of the ward. He leered unpleasantly, jerking his head towards the door. Peter nodded courteously, and obediently walked before Havisham towards the door.

Just as he reached it, he snapped abruptly around, and Havisham yelped and leapt back. Peter did not spare him a glance. He fixed Evesham with a smouldering gaze, putting the full weight of his conviction behind his words as he spoke.

"Do not labour under the delusion that this is a victory, Thomas Evesham. You are meddling with powers you could not possibly understand."

Calmly, he turned, and opened the door, not bothering to hold it open for the headmaster.

This was a conflict he could not afford to lose.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cedric chewed the end of his pencil nervously, ignoring the harsh taste of the wood in his mouth. His eyes flitted from the empty bed beside him, to the door, then back again.

You could never trust rumours, of course. But an official statement from the headmaster? Maybe it was not the whole truth, but you could be sure it did happen, on some degree.

The _idiot. _The bloody _idiot. _Sure, Peter was smarter than most, stronger than most, and quite possibly more determined than most. But going against the very system? He didn't stand a chance in hell.

And yet, it seemed, he had already won the first round.

They were too afraid to actually punish him properly, it seemed. And so they had placed him in solitary confinement until they could figure out what to do with him. Internal expulsion, it was called.

Peter would hate it.

Having so many siblings, Cedric had always observed that Peter hated to be alone. Whenever he returned from the holidays, there was always a far away look, a distant longing in his gaze. Then again, he always seemed to look like that.

As though he could see beyond the bounds of this little war, this little world. Cedric had been drawn to that, a certain power. It was why he had sat next to Peter in their first ever Latin lesson.

He had a certain aura about him, which emanated a quiet, humble strength. Something really very rare, nowadays, in such times of world war. It was the way of such conflict, he supposed. You either became a hero, or a villain.

Cedric sighed. It was late now. The sun was setting, and the light spattering of late dusk light was fading rapidly. From here, Peter's room, he could see across the courtyard to the Eastern Wing bell tower.

It was said the place was haunted, but Cedric doubted that. It was the ultimate confinement, the bell tower. High above the rest of the school, with thick glass windows, dusty, and filled with nesting birds. Cedric had only been there once before.

They had locked Peter up in there.

It seemed ironically like a fairy tale. A little Prince locked up in a tower, with only the birds for company, looking down upon the world below. Cedric wondered if Peter was singing yet.

Peter always sung when he was alone. Or he thought he was.

Cedric stared back up at the tower, and yelped, eyes widening. He gaped, watching as broken shards of thick glass spattered the roof below the tower with rain-like showers.

"What in the name of-"

Cedric abruptly dropped the pencil from his mouth, which fell to the floor, and pressed his face so close to the glass his nose was flattened. He abruptly wiped the surface with his palm as his hot breath frosted the surface over, and a slow grin grew across his face.

"Well, well, well. There's something you don't see every day."

He muttered to himself, staring across the courtyard at the bell tower. There, clambering awkwardly out of a broken window high above the flagstones below, was a very pale faced Peter Pevensie.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Rock-a-bye baby, on the tree top. When the wind blows, the cradle will rock. When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall…and down will come baby, cradle and all…"

The final line was a welling whisper, so quiet, were it not for the echoing repeat within the sonorous bell, it would have been lost amid the rustle of wings.

'_There has to be a way out of here. There's got to be.'_

Peter smiled bitterly to himself, glancing up at the dozen beady, shining eyes staring down at him. They were speckled birds, almost like doves, but greyer. They almost like kindly guardians, gazing sadly down at him.

"You're locked up too, huh?"

He murmured, and a soft chorus of cooing answered him. A single bird hopped along the beam above him, blinking, cocking its head to the side. Peter blinked, and watched in amazement as it flexed its wings, and soared slowly to the ground beside him.

He gazed into those black eyes, and felt almost as though this was one of the Narnian birds. Intelligent, kind.

Perhaps…perhaps the birds in this world, though just as intelligent as those in Narnia…simply had not found their voices. Or maybe they had lost them.

Maybe humanity had chased them away.

Peter smiled, and reached out a hand to touch the soft feathers, but the bird shied away. Peter's face fell, as the bird took flight once more. He followed its progress, as it soared around the edge of the bell hanging in the middle of the room.

'_I…need to see Edmund…'_

The haunted bell tower, it was called. It seemed…sad, to him, not something to be feared. Just a bell, forgotten, its voice lost, like the birds. He stood on shaky legs, brushing the dust from his blazer.

He crept around the bell structure, the boards creaking beneath his feet. He paused, as he saw the bird now perched upon the head of a discarded object, riddled with cobwebs.

He frowned, and moved towards it. The bird did not move as he brushed the cobwebs away, and they fell like a shroud to the floor.

It was a metal rod, with a large, smoothly oval head at the top. Like the sort of thing you would see coupled with a Chinese gong. It was obviously once used to ring the bell, when this school had been the home of a Lord, long ago. A warning bell, for invasion.

He touched the smooth head of the handle, and his breath hitched as a flurry of wings roared around him. Feathers floated to the ground, caught in the swirl, and he threw up his hands to cover his face as beating wings beat against his skin.

And then, it was quiet.

He opened his eyes, and saw that the birds had gathered around the window he had just been sitting beside. They sat perched upon the beams above it, and on the windowsill, ore simply upon the floor.

He stared.

Then smiled, looking from the window, then back to the handled bell ringer.

"Thank you."

He told them, softly. Their heads followed him, and the first bird leapt lightly from the handle as Peter wrapped a bandaged hand around it. He hefted it up into his arms, grunting at the weight.

They moved obediently out of his way as he made his way over to the window. They all seemed to hold their breath, as he lifted the heavy ringer up behind him. He took a deep breath, and then swung it forwards with all his strength.

It collided with the window with a terrible, resounding crash, and the pane creaked, split, then shattered into a thousand shards and fell forwards through the now empty frame.

The flock rose as one, spreading their wings and rising, filing out of the window. He watched them go, hand stinging with the weight of the ringer, feeling suddenly elated. Illuminated against the dying rays of the sun, he watched them fade into the horizon.

And it almost seemed as though he looked towards the great Eastern sea; the white doves of Cair Paravel following Aslan over the sea.

He blinked, and turned his head as a light weight settled against his shoulder. The single bird had remained, gazing at him with beady eyes. Peter smiled, and gently caressed its soft wings.

"We're free now, you see. Go and find your voice."

The bird said nothing, but bowed its head, before it took off and followed it's fellows through the window. Peter watched it go, still smiling, and felt a cool wind ruffle his hair, bearing a single, first and last message.

"_To the clear Northern Skies, I go. Aslan bless you, Son of Adam; High King Peter the Magnificent."_

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Alright, so I didn't get to the fluff. It'll be up next chapter, I promise! Confusing dreams? Well, isn't this a throwback to the old IS days? (Reminisces) Ah, those were the days…**

**A/N: So, a bit of a comedy chapter! My thanks to all my fantastic reviewers, and apologies it took so long!**

**Cifel: I yield. Fine. You can have the bloody A/N. I'm off to lurk in chapter thirty something…**

**Cedric: (Grins) Review, guys! You know you want to!**

**R E V I E W FOR NARNIA! And everybody in it. There now. NOBODY can say no to that, can they? (Smiles)**


	22. Loving and Giving

**A/N: (Swears violently) The world has something against me, surely! I mean, first my internet went weird. Then, I got ill (and still am) now, I have a week holiday on a boat with no computer. And then, I have two weeks of exams! What the hell!**

**IMPORTANT: So the long and short of it is, after APRIL 3RD, updates shall be scarce until three weeks following…so practically until the beginning of June. **

**(Bursts into tears)**

**ALSO IMPORTANT: A note on the dream: Yes, it was as confusing as hell, but please remember…a dream is a dream. Have you ever had dreams which make sense? It wasn't particularly significant to the plot. It had a few hints for the future, which you can decipher if you wish. You're at liberty!**

**Disclaimer: Narnia belongs solely to CS Lewis, and I sincerely hope he will not mind me borrowing his characters for a slight variation (cough cough) on his story. **

**Warnings: Nothing really. As ever, a little blood spilt.**

**Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.**

_This is slightly sarcastic narrative_

'_This is Peter'_

**_This is Edmund_**

Mistaken Perception

Part One: Late Arrivals

**_Chapter twenty one: Saturday's child works hard for a living_**

"Don't look down, don't look down, don't look down, don't-"

Peter looked down.

"Oh _hell…_"

His knuckles had turned white and bloodless from his limpet grip on the iron railings on the window ledge. His feet were positioned awkwardly against the crumbling brick of the tower, his knees bent uncomfortably. A light breeze blew up, and tossed his hair into his face, and he huddled in close to the broken window, feeling as though it might somehow blow him off.

He clenched his eyes tightly closed and gritted his teeth firmly together. He took a long, shuddering breath, and blew the hair out of his eyes once more while forcing them open. This was utterly ridiculous.

It wasn't even as if he was afraid of heights, it was just that he was a _very _long way above the ground. Very. And if he lost his grip, and fell, well…let's just say there would be a Pevensie Pancake decorating the courtyard.

Peter felt his stomach churn in a sickening somersault, and swallowed dryly.

"Think nice thoughts. Nice. Everything's fine, I'm going to get down. Just move one bit at a time, and you'll be fine…"

He turned his head, and squinted at the rickety iron drainpipe which hung from the tower roof. He followed its progress, seeing it went straight down to the roof of the east wing bellow him. Perfect.

Now all he had to do was actually get down without…well…falling and dying a horrible, slow, painful death.

Peter scowled and muttered darkly to himself as he stretched out a hand towards the coarse surface of the drainpipe, moving himself very carefully sideways.

"Edmund, I swear to God, if you're dead by the time I get there I'll kill you…"

'_What a stupid thing to think. How can anybody die from a single whipping? Pull yourself together, Peter.'_

He gasped a little as he launched his full weight to swing across, wrapping both hands around the drainpipe. He slammed painfully against the opposing corner edge of the tower, and barely managed to maintain a grip.

"Great. Abso-flaming-lutely fan-bloody-tastic."

He thought vaguely of what Edmund would say, do, if he could only see Peter now. Be rolling on the floor in fits of laughter, probably. Peter's scowl deepened, and he made a solemn vow to come up with a heroic escape story with which to cover this shamble of an operation.

If he got out of it alive, of course.

Peter's eyes snapped shut as he loosened his grip, and allowed himself to slide joltingly down the drainpipe. Flashes of childhood memories slotted into place before the darkness of his closed eyelids.

Many years ago, before the war, there had been a playground just down the road from their house. It had a slide, and a small sandpit, as well as some swings (although Edmund and Peter hardly ever got to go on these, as Susan and Lucy always hogged them stubbornly). But the pride and joy of the townsfolk children had been the rickety climbing frame in the centre of the playground.

There was no attraction in the horizontal ladder which boasted the opportunity to learn the 'monkey bars'. Instead, the Pevensie brother's played 'explorers' around a horizontal pole meant to demonstrate a fireman's progress to their engine.

Edmund, always the more graceful of the two (until the awkwardness of puberty struck him, of course) had never failed to land neatly on his feet following a slide down. Peter, however, always managed to fall over as soon as his feet hit the floor.

Peter took in a gasping breath, which he hadn't realised he'd been holding, as he slammed down onto the tiled roof of the east wing. Sure enough, he slipped over as soon as his feet made contact.

Once the Blitz began, the playground had been abandoned, and eventually used as a base for anti aircraft guns. Where once the air was filled with children's laughter, round after round of guns were fired towards a swarming sky.

Peter could almost hear his brother's laughter in his head, but here, there was no helping hand to pull him to his feet. He glared at the still shaking drainpipe beside his head, clenching the edges of a nearby chimney with grazed hands.

The dying light of the sun had almost completely vanished now, and Peter lay on the roof in dim half-light, feeling more than a little drained, but exhilarated, too. He was now twenty feet closer to Edmund.

He managed to shift himself into a sitting position, inhaling the sharp, refreshing dusk air with deep breaths. It was very quiet, and somehow surreal, so high up in the air with only the waking stars for company.

He recalled many a night in Narnia when he had waited long into the hours of the night, sitting on the highest peak of Cair Paravel, simply watching the sky shift above him. Sometimes he would even fall asleep there.

Not here, though. Here the sky was filled with smoky clouds, obscuring the stars above. Soon, perhaps, it would be filled with the whirring of machines, too.

With that sobering thought, he slid down the roof until he reached the edge. The hospital wing was almost directly below the tower, so he should be directly above it by now. It had many windows, so…it should be possible…

He noted the metal railing system running alone the edge of the roof, and swallowed thickly. It looked like he'd be placing his trust in the drainpipes once again.

"This is so ridiculously cliché, it could be a story…"

Peter grumbled to himself as he felt glanced along the wall below him for the glint of a paned window.

'_I mean, just how many books have I read of escapes like these? It's practically a Swallows and Amazons scenario…'_

He ignored the thundering of his heart, as he slipped his legs over the lip of the roof. He frowned as he noted the openly bleeding grazes upon them, as well as the scratches all down his shins.

With a slight hitch in his breathing, he slipped over the side, twisting in mid air with his hands alternating attachment to the drainpipe. He planted his legs firmly on the window ledge below him, and stood still for a moment, shaking.

'_This time, I'm really **not **going to look down…'_

He reached out, and grabbed the edge of a shutter which swung idly in the wind. He swallowed as he felt the hinges strain and creak under his grip, and quickly pulled himself forwards in one swift motion.

His heart gave a great jolt of pure panic as the shutter gave way, but thankfully, he was more or less safely huddled on the ledge. He watched as it fell, down, down, and heard a soft thwack as it hit the ground below.

"…damn…"

He managed to wheeze out brokenly, and abruptly licked his dry lips while turning to peer through the window. There were no lights shining in the ward, and the curtains were drawn. Peter breathed a small sigh of relief, and fumbled with the latch on the window.

It swung slowly open, and he fell gracelessly inwards, his feet sliding from under him as they met the varnished floor. A sudden breeze sent the curtain rustling wildly, and Peter hastened to pull the window shut as quietly as he could.

There was a soft snap and a clunk, then quiet. The sky outside had cleared, and moonlight now streamed into the room. Peter stood still for a moment, panting softly, trying to quell the trembling in his heart.

Once steady, he turned, and surveyed the room before him. Darkened shadows were being thrown across by the iron bedsteads, like the bars of a prison cell. Peter frowned, and listened acutely, beginning a slow march down the aisle between the beds.

His heart began to beat faster again.

'_Edmund, where are you?'_

And as if in answer, there came a muffled whimper and a soft groan of bedsprings as something in the bed at the very end of the ward shifted.

Or someone.

Peter's head snapped around, and he caught sight of the bed in question. The curtains of the window right beside it had not been closed properly, and so a long, slanted slit of moonlight spilled out across the bed.

Illuminating stained bandages stripped across pale, exposed skin.

Peter almost didn't feel himself move, but quite abruptly, he found himself standing beside the bed, gripping the nearest iron bedpost, choking back a gasp of horror. His legs bent then fell from under him, and he slid to the floor, eyes wide with pain.

"Oh, Ed…"

He choked out, voice fluctuating violently. Edmund was lying on his front, his head turned away from Peter, buried in the pillow. The covers had been kicked down into a crumpled heap which lay across Edmund's waist, just below where the bandaging ended. Peter allowed his gaze to travel up his brother's back, feeling jolted surges of emotion wrack his shaking frame.

'_This is all my fault.'_

All across Edmund's back, strips of cloth criss-crossed horribly with Edmund's bloodless skin. Bloodless, because blotches of artfully straight blood stains scattered across the contrastingly white bandages.

'_I should have done better.'_

Peter felt bile rise in his throat, and he clapped both his shaking hands to his mouth in a cupping gesture, almost like a silent prayer. He closed his eyes, but the image remained, searing, burned into his memory.

'_Tried harder.'_

Then his eyes snapped open, and he stiffened, climbing unsteadily to his knees. He reached out a trembling hand, and it hovered above the largest stain, which stretched just beneath Edmund's right shoulder blade all the way down to his lower back. He swallowed down the urge to sob, as his fingers touched the sticky surface.

'_All my fault.'_

He drew immediately back, as though burned, and stared feverishly, disbelievingly, up and down his brother's beaten form. He gathered his wits, and reached out to enclose Edmund's hand, which lay against the pillow, in his own.

It was icily cold.

Peter choked back the string of sobs, berating himself. This was no time for weakness. He had been too weak, for too long. Wallowed in his own grief, selfish. Pathetic. He had been through this…this sort of weakness, and emerged stronger. He had once though, not so long ago, that it was Edmund who gave him strength.

But it was also Edmund who could so easily strip it from him.

Edmund sniffled softly in his sleep, and he turned his head towards Peter, his brow wrinkling in slight confusion. Peter felt panic rise in his chest, and hastily moved to pull his fingers from around Edmund's hand.

His breath hitched as the pale hand beneath his suddenly clenched his own in a painfully tight grip, and he gasped, jumping in surprise.

Edmund muttered something, and his nose crinkled as he inhaled a deep breath. Peter felt his heart beat faster, as he remembered the handkerchief which was slotted neatly beneath the cuff of his sleeve.

'_He always did have a good sense of smell…damn, damn, damn…'_

Edmund couldn't wake now. Not when he was in such a state. Not when _Peter _was in such a state. Peter felt a now very familiar pit of burning anger begin to kindle deep within him. This was his fault…he had done this, caused this.

There had to be something he could do. This could not go on. Not anymore. Not with all that was happening. They had to get away, somehow-

"…thought I heard a commotion, so I-"

Peter's head snapped around, and he was hit with a dizzy spell. He groaned, and brought a hand to his temple, panic flooding his already worn senses as he heard approaching footsteps down the corridor.

There was nowhere to run to…nowhere far away enough, anyway.

Though it tore at his heart to do so, Peter snatched his hand from Edmund's, as the voices drew closer. Edmund frowned, emitting a soft protest, and Peter hesitated, before ducking down and pressing a brief kiss to his brother's hair strewn temple.

He then threw himself under the bed, as the door to the hospital ward swung slowly open with a spilling of glowing light and a creaking groan. Peter curled in on himself, clutching his knees to his chest, retreating into the darkest shadows beneath the mattress above him.

"…went to check the tower, yes, yes, you said already Tom. The point is, how the devil did the boy get out? Surely he didn't…"

Havisham's gruff tones. Peter felt his heart sink. It had been discovered already? Oh yes, the Headmaster's quarters were also in the east wing. And all the teachers. How could he have forgotten? The commotion with the window and the shutter must have woken someone…

"Quite frankly, Sir, I would expect anything from these two. Love mixed with grief is a very powerful stimulus. Provokes irrational responses, you know."

Two pairs of slow, steady footsteps were moving towards him. Peter almost gasped as the mattress above him creaked and shifted, as Edmund turned. A pale hand, down to the wrist, was flung over the side of the bed, as though searching.

"In plain English, if you would?"

The voices were halfway down the ward. Peter glanced around, and saw two long shadows cast by the glowing light of the hallway, mimicking their owners. Havisham and Evesham. Of all the bad luck…

"Because they are sad about their Daddy, they love each other more, and so they do stupid things. Clear enough?"

"Don't get sarcastic with me, I am a grown man! Now."

Havisham cleared his throat, and they began to move again. As Edmund shifted and muttered something once more, Peter, on impulse, reached out and laced those pale fingers with his own once more.

Almost immediately, Edmund quieted, and the mattress ceased to move ominously above him. Thankfully, Edmund had chosen to reach over the side of the bed which faced away from the door.

"Well, evidently, the boy has not yet reached his brother. Where could he be? You don't think he…fell, do you?"

"No. No, I don't think he…would. And I'll have to disagree with you on your first point, I'm afraid."

Peter swallowed, and pressed his back flush against the wall, heat rushing to his head as panic flooded his senses once more. A pair of shining, neatly laced and varnished shoes had stopped just beside the bed, on the opposite side to where Peter was hiding.

Silence.

"Well don't leave me in the dark, man."

The shoes turned around with a squeak, and Peter tensed, his hand around Edmund's unconsciously tightening. He felt a certain sense of comfort when those fingers squeezed back.

"If I may, Headmaster. There are only two possible courses the boy could have taken; down the chimney, or over the roof. Evidently, by his lack of presence, he chose the former."

"Gracious me…I think I shall have to wake the caretaker for this. Would you-?"

Evesham cut across Havisham, rather suspiciously, Peter thought. His head was pounding with the rush of blood from his fluttering heart, and he felt dizzy. He clenched his eyes tightly shut, and waited.

"If you don't mind, I think I shall remain here in case the boy comes seeking his brother. I'll detain him if he comes."

There was something…not right, behind that mild tone. He _knew. _Dear sweet Aslan, the bloody swine _knew _Peter was there. And he was getting shot of Havisham on purpose, too.

"Very well, then. I shall return to inform you of the situation in a few minutes."

There was the sound of a single pair of receding footsteps, and the sway and creak of the door. Peter bowed his head, pressing his forehead against his knees, closing his eyes as footsteps very carefully moved around the end of the bed, drawing closer.

They stopped right beside his free hand, and Peter schooled his features into an impassive mask as he waited almost calmly for the inevitable invitation. He could almost feel Evesham's gaze burning into the back of his head.

There was a moment of ringing silence; then a soft, almost kindly voice smugly sounded right beside his ear.

"Get up, Peter."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

**A/N: (Blink blink) Phew, longest POV section, ever! (Exhausted) Well, y'all got you fluff. Satisfied? (grins)**

**Cifel: Okay, so. I received a kick from a reviewer telling me to get in there and save the day; well, believe me, if I could a) be bothered b)actually get there and c)get ohcEEcho to untie me, then I would. But I can't.**

**Cedric: (Smug) Review, and receive Turkish delight!**

**R E V I E W FOR NARNIA! And everybody in it. There now. NOBODY can say no to that, can they? (Smiles) Nope, didn't think so…**


	23. Work hard for a Living

**A/N: Sorry it took so long! Like I said, I was away, and upon my return had to unpack and God knows what else. I apologise! Please enjoy! (And don't kill me…) **

**Disclaimer: Narnia belongs solely to CS Lewis, and I sincerely hope he will not mind me borrowing his characters for a slight variation (cough cough) on his story. **

**Warnings: Nothing really. As ever, a little blood spilt. **

**Rating: PG13 American, 12 English. **

_ 'This is Peter' _

**_This is Edmund _**

Mistaken Perception

Part One: Late Arrivals

**_Chapter twenty two: And the child that is born on the Sabbath day… _**

****

Thomas Evesham felt only the tiniest sense of accomplishment as the boy slowly rose, and stood on steady legs beside the bed. He noted, with some distaste, that the boy still refused to unlace his hand from his brother's.

He turned away, fumbling in his pocket for a box of matches, or a lighter of some kind. He frowned as he lifted a discarded gas lamp from the bedside table. There was a tense silence as he opened the latch and began to light it.

"You shouldn't be here."

He murmured, once the flame had sputtered to life. He heard the eldest Pevensie shift, then sit down carefully on the bed beside his brother. Evesham's frown deepened. Physically lowering himself? That implied either submission, or complete confidence. And it wasn't likely to be the former.

Peter Pevensie slowly smiled.

"That's all you have to say?"

He turned his head away, idly brushing a few scattered cobwebs from his blazer.

"I expected better of you."

Evesham gritted his teeth. Quite how this boy managed to be so calm and yet so infuriating was beyond him. Insanity was supposed to inhibit one's wits, not stimulate them!

"And I of you. You know how foolish that was. Don't you?"

"Of course."

It was a simple, mild statement. Evesham was, yet again, taken aback. He had expected some form of chastisement for his condescending manner. For all intents and purposes, he would be willing to write the boy off as barmy if Peter didn't always maintain an air of mature defiance.

"What do you want from us?"

"Answers."

"Answers to what?"

"I shall not know until I know what questions to ask."

"And how will you determine that?"

"Through careful study."

"Oh really?"

"Yes."

Hesitation. Good. He had made some progress, at least.

"And what entitled you to gain such omniscience over us?"

"Circumstantial evidence."

"Such as?"

"Your Mother."

Stony silence.

"You're treading a thin line."

"As are you, my dear boy. As are you."

A groan, and Edmund Pevensie shifted over to settle nearer to his brother. Peter's hand tightened around his brother's until his knuckles turned white, but his features were hidden by his golden hair, illuminated silver by the moonlight.

"So. What's the next demand?"

Evesham's lip twitched. The uncertainty in the boy's underlying tone was encouraging; perhaps he was closer to breaking than he had first thought.

"I see no point in punishing you further; I believe your…ah…_conditions_ are quite severe enough without further hindrance."

Silence.

"Conditions?"

The tantalising sense of fear which clearly had begun to fester within the boy made Evesham shiver with anticipation. Yes, yes, at last. He was finally getting onto even ground with the boy.

Evesham cleared his throat, feigning discomfort.

"Ah, yes. Well, I…was wondering when we might get to that."

"You think I'm insane. We're insane."

The frankness, coupled with the dull, monotone abruptness almost made Evesham falter. Almost. Sensing the opportune moment to strike hard, he spoke once more, adding a sprinkle of condescension and fake pity to his tone.

"My poor, poor boy. I don't think you're insane."

For a fraction of a second, a cruel smirk twisted his lips.

"I know you are insane."

Peter's head snapped up at that, blue eyes wide with sudden shock. Evesham was pleased. Pressing his advantage, he waited impatiently for the boy's response.

"I…"

Peter licked his lips and swallowed, and Evesham noted the light, angry flush which had spread across his pale cheeks. He was rapidly gaining the upper hand.

"Madmen rave, and make trouble, are unbalanced. I do none of these things."

Evesham smiled, kindly, gently, the very epitome of empathy. Inside, he was chuckling with wild abandon. He was finally getting somewhere.

"As you say, Peter Pevensie. But that is a mere stereotypical view. A view which, I must say, your brother fits perfectly."

Peter stood up faster than Evesham could blink, the angry blush spreading across his cheeks and his hands balling into fists at his sides. Evesham allowed a tiny glance to confirm the boy's detachment from his brother's hand.

"Edmund is-"

"A lunatic."

"YOU-!"

Evesham's half formed smile was smothered as the boy suddenly jerked forwards with an angry cry.

"…Pip?"

The moment was utterly broken as the soft, muffled voice sounded from what seemed like far away. The eldest Pevensie immediately froze, then turned his attention back down to his brother, who had propped himself up on unsteady elbows and was idly rubbing his face.

"Mmm…Peter…? S'you?"

He was halfway through sitting up, when he hissed, and Peter surged forwards to stop him from smashing his head against the iron banister.

"Peter…what…ow!"

"Easy, Ed, easy. Don't-"

Edmund spotted Evesham, and his eyes narrowed as he made another abrupt attempt to sit up. Anger shone in his gaze.

"Who are YOU? **OW**!"

"-move. Make a civil request…"

Peter muttered to himself as he helped his brother to lie back, albeit reluctantly. Evesham stepped forward, and inclined his head slightly as he introduced himself.

"My name is Dr Evesham, Edmund Pevensie. I-"

Peter whirled on him, face contorted with hatred, and Evesham thought idly that the emotion did not suit him. Somehow, on the boy's usually kindly features, the emotion seemed all the more cruel.

"Don't you talk to him! Not after…"

Peter hesitated, and trailed off, obviously reluctant to voice the previous encounter. Edmund blinked sleep from his eyes, frowning as he shifted, hissing in pain. He gritted his teeth, and managed to gasp out:

"Um…Peter? Am I…missing something here?"

Peter refused to turn to look at him, and instead continued to stare Evesham down. Evesham raised an eyebrow at him, and frowned, a thought suddenly occurring to him.

"Pip."

Peter's face fell in surprise, and the blood drained from his face. His fists raised as he spluttered out angrily.

"Excuse me?"

Evesham ignored him, and instead addressed the younger Pevensie.

"You said Pip, Edmund. What did you mean?"

Before Edmund could formulate a response, which may have taken some time, considering his mouth had fall wide open in shock, Peter interjected angrily:

"That is no business of **yours**. And did I say you could address my brother by name?"

Again, that condescension in the boy's tone. What had convinced him that he was superior to those elder in years to himself? Or did something run deeper in his insanity than even Evesham could ever have perceived?

It was improbable; but possible.

"I do not believe you are in a position to make such demands, Peter Pevensie."

He said, injecting as much dignified, quiet authority into that statement as he dared. Peter crossed his arms, and raised his chin, the now very familiar darkness swirling within his eyes.

"If that's the case, I do believe you need a reality check."

Edmund, clearly, was taken aback by his brother's behaviour. Evesham filed away that particular piece of information with interest. Exploitable? Perhaps.

"Peter! Stop. What is going on? I…"

Evesham leapt at the window of opportunity.

"Well, young man, we-"

"-were just discussing my punishment for breaking and entering. That's all."

Evesham shot an annoyed look Peter's way, who scowled back, having cut the doctor off mid-sentence. Edmund looked between them, utterly bewildered, and now slightly suspicious.

"Breaking and…entering? What? I don't…"

"Understand? Well, my boy. Your brother here has been acting rather rashly."

Edmund raised a dark eyebrow, and muttered under his breath as he fiddled with the bed sheets.

"Well there's a surprise."

Peter had the grace to blush.

"I resent that."

He muttered back, and Edmund ignored him, instead speaking directly to Evesham. This lack of unity was most encouraging, Evesham thought with more than a little glee.

"Shut up, Peter. What do you mean by _rash_?"

Evesham abruptly cleared his throat, and ignored Peter's pleading look with malicious satisfaction.

"From all considered evidence, I would say jumping out of a window over thirty above the ground. Would that constitute rash, or is your perception of the border between stupidity and moral fibre differ from mine?"

"WHAT? PETER!"

Edmund once again made a half-hearted attempt to sit up, and bit back a grimace as he stared disbelievingly at his brother. Peter refused to look at him, instead determinedly glaring at a point somewhere on the floor.

"I did not _jump, _I climbed. And it was not thirty feet."

"Peter, what the bloody hell were you thinking!"

Peter did not answer, and Evesham had a good idea of what he had been thinking. However, voicing such unspoken thoughts would only serve to hinder his own purpose. How did re-enforcing their bond aid matters? No. It would do no good to tell the boy _why _his brother would climb out a window far above the ground.

He had a suspicion Peter would have done much more, if necessary.

"To be frank, dear boy, I'd have to say he wasn't."

"**You **shut up. Ed, really, it was nothing. Forget it."

"But-"

Evesham hastily interjected.

"There is nothing we can do about it now, young man. For once, your brother may have a point. Berate him later. For now, there is other business we must attend to."

Both boys shared a meaningful glance, and Evesham clasped his hands delicately behind his back. He took a deep breath and began to speak in a low, soft voice which would have seemed genuine were it not for his expression.

"Now. Peter. You must understand that by violating your punishment…not to mention breaking a very valuable window…you must face further-"

"Wait a minute! Why was he…"

Peter sank once more down to the bed, eyes filled with a grim, dull acceptance. Edmund's face fell, as he evidently recounted the events of the previous day; his brother's actions. Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, wincing, as Edmund breathed out a faint:

"Oh…"

Evesham let slip a smirk.

"Yes, Edmund Pevensie 'oh'. I trust you recall your brother's atrocious behaviour only yesterday?"

Peter's head snapped up.

"I don't regret it. I had to stop it, for Edmund."

"Peter!"

"It's true."

"Peter, you-"

Evesham abruptly interrupted them, as they gazed heatedly at each other, both trying to convey something words could not.

"Alright, that's enough! Let us discuss this calmly, shall we? Facts are facts. Peter committed a crime, and must be punished for it. You yourself, Edmund, are now free of charge."

Edmund's tore his eyes away from his brother, features discarding reproach for solemnity. He bowed his head, but spoke clearly.

"But I shouldn't be. I-"

Peter grasped Edmund's shoulder and gave him a significant look, before addressing Evesham once more.

"Quiet, Edmund. Sir. I consent. I broke the rules, so punish me. I see no reason for all this pointless deliberation."

Evesham shook his head.

"It is not that simple. You see, following the events of yesterday, you have been…I'm sorry, you both have been deemed…unstable."

There was a long silence, and Edmund looked despairingly to his brother, to which Peter could only nod very slowly. Edmund looked up at Evesham, a million emotions flitting across his pale face.

"You think we're mad."

"I didn't say that."

"You meant it."

Identical expressions of solemnity, as the two brother's simultaneously turned to look at each other. For a few long moments, they held their gaze, and in that time, Evesham felt that an eternity of exchanges were taking place. He could almost see the conflict flying between the boys.

Eventually, they both turned to look at him, and Peter spoke quietly.

"So what now? Since whatever we do, we obviously cannot hope to convince you otherwise."

Evesham felt his heart jump with fear. He would have to be careful. Very careful. He must choose the next few words with extreme detail. One slip here, and the whole affair could be completely destroyed.

"We shall have to see. There are many options open to you. You could be transferred to-"

"The day either Edmund or I are shipped off to some loony bin is the day I die, _Sir_."

Evesham silently cursed. Perhaps that had not been the best approach. He had riled the elder now; he was on his guard. And after all the palaver to bring it down, too. Not Doctor Thomas Evesham's finest hour, at all.

"…very well. For now, then…I suppose as long as the ward is locked, Peter, you may remain here. I shall inform the Headmaster of your presence, and shall further discuss the position with him."

And with that, he abandoned the front, temporarily. He turned on his heel, and walked swiftly and hastily out of the ward, making sure to grab the key off the hook and lock the door behind him.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

There was a very long, very uncomfortable silence. Peter slumped back against the wall, clenching his eyes tightly shut. He felt a cold, long fingered hand on his arm, and wearily opened them once more.

"Peter?"

Peter managed a faint smile, and briefly touched a hand to his brother's cheek, painfully reminiscent of what their Father used to do. But it had seemed appropriate, somehow.

"Don't worry, Ed. It'll be alright. I promise."

Edmund's eyes narrowed slightly, and he fixed his elder brother with an intense stare which had made even the most steadfast of enemies tremble. In Narnia, that is. But it still had the desired effect upon Peter.

"I'm not sure I believe you."

_Neither do I. _

Silence.

"Peter? Everything is alright, just for now. Right?"

'_What do they want from us, truly? What do they see when they look at us?'_

"Yes, Edmund. It's…alright."

**_You're lying._**

'_How much longer can this go on?'_

"You're lying to me, Peter."

'_No. I've been lying to myself.'_

"I'm…I'm not sure anything will ever be alright, Edmund."

**_I know._**

"But…it could be, couldn't it?"

'_Could it?'_

"Yes. Yes, I suppose it could be."

Edmund nodded curtly, and wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders, wincing slightly as his back protested to the movement. Peter swallowed; for once, he had nothing to say in return. Maybe it didn't have to said.

Maybe, just maybe…Edmund understood, anyway.

"That's enough for me, then."

Edmund said quietly, leaning his head against Peter's, eyes shutting with finality. Peter smiled, feeling an unseen weight lift from his shoulders; and his heart.

_'I don't have to. I…don't have to be alone.'_

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

**A/N: (Faints) HELL, that was a biggie…after this, FINALLY, the story gets moving. Within two chapters, the boys shall have left the school. Why, I hear you ask? **

**Wait and see! **

**ALSO an update on the Lucy situation, along with their Mother…plus a little…surprise…for you all! **

**Cifel: (incredibly smug, reading the plot plan) Okay, screw this. I shall reign victorious! (sprints off to lurk in the next dream sequence) **

**Cedric: Um…if he's happy that's bad for me, right? Right? (worried) **

**(Waves Aslan Banner) REVIEW for…for…oh hell, just review! I have SMARTIES! (shakes packet)**


	24. Sabbath Day

**A/N: HOLY SPIFFINGNESS I'm alive! Praises be. Thank you all so much for your patience! Incidentally, although Narnia came out on the 3rd over here, I couldn't get hold of it until yesterday (watery eyes) LONG LIVE NARNIA!**

**Anyway, my determination has increased tenfold! Woo! I have inspiration! I hope this chapter is up to scratch. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Narnia belongs solely to CS Lewis, and I sincerely hope he will not mind me borrowing his characters for a slight variation (cough cough) on his story. **

**Warnings: Nothing really. As ever, a little blood spilt.**

**Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.**

'_This is Peter'_

**_This is Edmund_**

Mistaken Perception

Part One: Late Arrivals

**_Chapter twenty three: …is bonny and blithe, good and gay_**

"Who…?"

Helen Pevensie murmured, shifting uncomfortably in her sleep, pale brow furrowed.

Lucy's head snapped up, and she frowned as the book she had been balancing on her knee fell to the floor. She snapped it up off thevarnished floorboardsirritably, still frowning, and carefully slid off the windowsill.

"Mother?"

She thought with a little sadness of whatever happened to 'Mummy'. It just didn't seem…right, somehow. Addressing her Mother in such a childish way. After all, she had already lived past the age of adulthood. She was sure she winced every time she met her Mother's gaze.

Not that Helen Pevensie would notice, nor even care.

Lucy couldn't understand herself. She was _angry_ with her Mother. Not worried for her, not sad for her, nor even possessing that lingering feeling of hope for her recovery. Not any more. She was simply _angry. _And that frightened her, perhaps even more than her own situation.

"Mother? Are you awake?"

But her Mother did not stir again. Her features, wan and thin, were contorted with a sort of demented confusion. Lucy sighed. It was not unusual. Often now her Mother had nightmares; and not the tame kind either. Her Mother had even lashed out at her last night.

Not that Lucy noticed the pain; she was too tired, really. Maintaining a constant watch over her slowly deteriorating Mother, she never really noticed anything except how every bone seemed more pronounced every morning.

Sometimes she was afraid she would wake upon the cold windowsill, only to find that her Mother had withered away completely, and there was nothing left but empty bedclothes and thin sheets.

"…where?"

Her Mother's wispy voice rose again, a hoarse murmur which grated against Lucy's ears. She sighed, and moved cautiously closer to her Mother, searching the woman's features for signs of immediate distress.

Finding none, Lucy closed her eyes, and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. When she re-opened them, the room somehow seemed brighter. She took a deep breath, and sat down carefully on the edge of the bed. She fingered the intricate embroidery on the sheets, and fixed her gaze upon her Mother's face.

Perhaps listening to her Mother's mutterings might give her some idea of how to help her. There wasn't much of a chance…but it was there. And she would take anything she could get.

She felt her stomach ache with hunger, and rubbed it absently. It could wait. She could go down for breakfast later. Or lunch. Or perhaps dinner.

Lucy scowled.

It didn't matter. She'd managed a day without food before. What was another twenty four hours, after all?

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

_It was…warm._

_So very warm. She could smell soft earth, and fresh, green grass. A cool, refreshing breeze ruffled her hair lightly, wafting the sweet scent of wild flowers about her._

_Her body ached, but she wasn't uncomfortable, only pleasantly dull-minded. She blinked lazily up at the wide, brimming blue bowl of the sky above, idly noting the differing shapes of clouds wafting languidly before her. No boundaries._

_It was quiet; strangely so. _

"_Daughter of Eve, Helen Pevensie, I presume?"_

_She gasped, as a soft but somehow clipped voice sounded abruptly to her left. She snapped her head to the side as she sat up, to see the stems around her parted beneath two leather clad feet._

_She raised her gaze, and squinted as the glare of the sun silhouetted the figure into a dark shape. The man…no, boy, she corrected herself. Not quite a man yet. Young man. Why was she rambling to herself?_

"_I'm sorry. Did I startle you?"_

_He leant down, and she finally caught a glimpse of his features. He was quite tall, but with a slender figure, more agile than muscled. His dark hair spilled in uneven disarray about his pale face, which was very angular, with a strong chin and a pointed nose; high cheekbones too, she noted._

_He pursed his lips, and raised a dark eyebrow, as though in question. She flushed, and shook her head, taking his proffered hand and clambering to her feet. She released his hand, frowning as she saw the curious glove it was encased in. No, not glove. Gauntlet._

_How strange…_

_He frowned, and brushed his hand off on his cloak…cloak? She took in his even stranger clothing; a tunic of different hues of green, a cloak, and knee high leather boots. His tunic depicted a bright silver lion, frozen mid roar._

_She stared at it._

"_If you would be so kind as to follow me."_

_She started, and saw he was already moving swiftly away through the high grass. She stumbled after him, catching his shoulder with her hand, and spinning him around to face her._

"_To where?"_

_He blinked dark green eyes, as though struggling to focus, and cocked his head to the side, raising an eyebrow once more. He didn't seem to be properly paying attention to her. _

"_Hmm? I'm sorry, what was that? I was a little distracted."_

_Helen stared openly at him. First he addresses her, now he pays almost no attention. Who was this boy? Where were they, anyway? Who was she?_

_She swallowed, licked her dry lips, and spoke in as calm a voice as she could._

"_Where? Where are you taking me?"_

_Quite suddenly, the entire demeanor of the boy changed. He huffed, and crossed his arms across his chest, rolling his eyes with somewhat arrogant condescension. _

"_Hell, how do I know? It's the big guy who's calling all the shots."_

_He muttered, and she blinked in confusion._

"_I beg your pardon?"_

_He shook his head, and frowned at the single strand of hair which fell into his face. He pushed it away irritably, and shrugged one shoulder, taking her arm and leading her towards a rusted iron gate at the edge of the field as he spoke._

"_Never mind. Sarcasm tends to mutate over time, and I've had a lot of time on my hands. Come on."_

_Helen wrenched her arm from his grip, and exclaimed in exasperation:_

"_But where are we going?"_

_The boy sighed, and muttered under his breath._

"_On a rather pointlessly long trip through a figmented realm which isn't even real in order to confront your inner demons and therefore move the plotline on."_

_Helen blinked._

"_What was that?"_

_He sighed wistfully._

"_For a walk. We're going for a walk."_

_She decided that to continue repeating herself was pointless, and so resigned herself and took to watching the scenery instead. It really was a beautiful place, wherever it was. Beyond the field where she had come from, through the iron gate, a long dusty path stretched far out of sight. It was smooth, quite unlike the uneven surface of ordinary country lanes. The breeze which spun around her was light, and carried a musty, almost stale sweet smell._

_Abruptly, the dark haired boy halted, and whirled about to face her. He paused, not hesitant, but seemed to consider his next words carefully. Eventually, he spoke._

"_Ok...Helen, was it? You are Helen Pevensie, correct?"_

_He seemed more businesslike now; he really was quite the strangest person she had ever met, changing mood with the fluent lack of consistency which befitted and emotional teenager. Childish, in a way. And yet not._

"_Of course I'm Helen Pevensie. You asked me yourself just a few minutes ago."_

_He waved her statement off, nodding curtly, then fixed her with an intense gaze._

"_Ok, listen up. Have you ever read a human book called…uh… 'A Christmas Carol?' Quite why it was called that is beyond me, because it's hardly about carols or Christmas that much but that's not the point…"_

_He trailed off, while she tried to root out anything which was actually relevant from this rather long, elaborated statement. She had indeed read that book. It was a well known novel...in fact, she had read it to Lucy last Christmas...no, she hadn't...somebody else had...Henry?_

_No, not Henry...somebody...else..._

"_A human book? But surely you're human?"_

_She said, discarding her previous trail of thought with ruthless abandon.The boygave her a piercing look, and she shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. After a long moment, he spoke again._

"_I resent that. Call me human if it makes you feel better, because I couldn't feel much worse right now. Anyway. You've read it, correct?"_

"_Well, yes. A long time ago."_

_Suddenly, a thought occured to her, and sheallowed herself a small, lazy smile._

_"Is this a dream?"_

_The boyblinked, and then a slow, secretive smirk grew across his lips. He idly adjusted the strap on his left guantlet with a clank of metal buckles, all the while keeping that sharp emerald gaze fixed upon her._

"_If it was, do you think you would ask that question?"_

_He asked, quietly. Helen thought for a moment, her mind sluggish, and spoke with a surprisingly mild tone, rather like she was commenting on the weather._

"_No, I suppose not."_

_For a moment, there was absolute quiet._

"_Well then, come along."_

_And then they were on the move again, faster this time, their pace quickened. Helen hastened to keep up, her sandalled feet slapping against the dry mud track, clouds of dust rising with each step. _

"_But I don't understand!"_

_She exclaimed, desperately. But he merely increased their speed once more, throwing a rather cryptic comment over his shoulder as he did so. _

"_Welcome to my world…quite literally, as a matter of fact. Well, technically not mine, I just live in it, but-"_

"_You talk too much."_

_She muttered, irritable now. She did not know why she was here, or ever where she was, or where she had come from. But this boy, with his arrogance and clear lack of consistency only served to make the situation more unpleasant._

"_It's to make up for past deficiency. Now can we move? Please?"_

_She sighed, and nodded, moving to fall into step beside him. She had nothing to lose, she supposed. It was either follow the mysterious boy, or simply sit in the field some more. And God knows, she had done enough of that._

_She started._

_Where had that come from? She had only been in the field for about a minute...this was a dream. It had to be. It was the only logical explanation._

"_Just one more thing. What's your name?"_

_She asked, and he stopped so suddenly she almost gasped in surprise. He gave her a strange look, with something ellusive swirling in his gaze._

"_Your children are very like you, Helen Pevensie. Did you know that?"_

"_Well, actually…I…I've always thought most of them take after their father-"_

_She did not know where her answer to this question came from; it just...fell. And just like that, her mind was bombarded with a million images, sounds, thoughts, feelings. She hissed through gritted teeth, clutching her head. She couldn't make sense of them; there were too many._

_After a long moment, the boy's calm, matter of fact tone cut through the tirading assault, and she glared up at him. He, however, maintained a deceptively innocent demeanor._

"_And now we're making progress. Confused yet?"_

"_Yes."_

_She spat out, rather uncharacteristically. Or so she thought. Who knew? She didn't even know what her character was...or had been. This was so very confusing._

"_Excellent. Now follow me closely, if you would. It's easy to get lost around here."_

"_But you never told me your-"_

_He let out a groan of frustration, fists clenched, and turned sharply around to say rather quickly:_

"_Oh for the love of…Cifel. It's Cifel. Now shut up, and follow me. Why do humans need to be told something fifteen times before it actually registers?"_

_He continued to mutter mutinously under his breath as they continued on, the sun dropping lower and lower towards the horizon, and the world growing steadily darker about Helen and her strange guide._

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Edmund swallowed hard, determined not to make a sound as his back screamed in agony. He gritted his teeth and winced, shifting into a more comfortable position so the iron bedrail was not digging into his spine. He huffed a sigh of relief when Peter did not stir at his discomfort.

"S'no need, Ed. M'still awake. You okay?"

Edmund gritted his teeth, as Peter rubbed his eyes with a tightly closed fist, and sat up. He had been leaning against the side of the bed, his legs folded neatly beneath on the floor. No matter how much Edmund had protested, he refused to take up any space on the bed.

Peter levered himself up onto his knees, and shuffled closer to his brother, concern filling eyes which seemed to emanate exhaustion. Edmund sighed, and shook his head, clasping Peter's straying hand to halt its progress to his back.

"It just stings a little, is all."

Peter gave him a long look, but relented. His hand tightened almost imperceptibly about Edmund's, whether out of concern, comfort or a craving for comfort, Edmund could not tell. Peter had become far harder to read nowadays.

Edmund was worried, he could not deny it. The…fit…of sort, Peter had suffered the other day had seemed so uncharacteristic. Desperate. Peter usually never resorted to violence, if he could help it. And he had been so spiteful towards that man…Evesham…

And he was distancing himself. Shying away from Edmund, as though afraid that if he touched him, he would hurt him. Not that Edmund would hurt him. That _he _would hurt Edmund.

But Peter would never hurt him, Edmund knew that. What had happened, to make his brother change, so suddenly? Edmund hated it.

"Peter?"

He said it almost as a reassurance to himself than as a question. Peter turned dull, hollow eyes upon him, and Edmund repressed a shiver. Peter went to pull his hand away from Edmund's, but Edmund simply tightened his grip.

Peter cleared his throat uncomfortably as Edmund frowned at him, and replied.

"Yes, Edmund?"

Peter had done it again. Shied away. As though he was afraid. No. Peter could not be afraid, Peter was…well…Peter. Peter was never afraid. When they were young, Edmund had once believed that Peter could do anything.

Once, just once, Peter had cried. Edmund couldn't remember when. He himself had been lying down, the world spinning, and all he could recall was his brother's face, eyes wide with shock, tears spilling down his cheeks in free abandon.

It was after that, that Edmund had begun to lose confidence in Peter. But that had all changed, after Narnia. He trusted his brother, implicitly.

Edmund never wanted to see Peter cry again. He had sworn, after Beruna, that he wouldn't. But he had broken that promise. Peter was distancing himself, much like Edmund had done, before the evacuation, before Narnia.

"Why?"

He wondered aloud, and Peter blinked in confusion.

"I don't understand, Ed. Why what?"

Edmund felt a stab of frustration with himself as his back gave another painful throb, and subsequently his next sentence came out rather more clipped than he had intended.

"Peter, there's something wrong with you. What is it?"

Although he hid his pain, and Peter did not realize his back was complaining once more, it was at a price. Edmund immediately cursed himself, as he realized how terribly hurtful that statement was.

Peter had pulled his hand away from Edmund's now lax grip, and ducked his head, obviously trying to hide his own hurt. Edmund scowled. This was utterly ridiculous!

He took several deep breaths, calming himself, before he spoke again, reaching out to clasp his brother's shoulder.

"Peter, I-"

He gasped at how _cold _Peter was, physically. Like touching a ghost, he thought, and shivered.

"No, Ed. You're right."

Edmund's mouth fell open in shock.

"Wha! Peter?"

Peter turned his head to look at Edmund, but he seemed to look more through him than at him. Peter swallowed, and opened his mouth, the words coming uncertainly.

"Edmund…I…I just…"

Peter lowered his voice, speaking more to himself than his brother.

"Am I really…going mad?"

Something seemed to explode within the pit of Edmund's stomach, and he could do nothing but stare. He felt suddenly nauseous, and wondered whether the phrase 'worried sick' was originally meant to be a literal term.

But before he could force himself to form a decent reply, another sound broke the uneasy silence:

"It's a little late for that, don't you think?"

Came a voice dripping with cold mirth, as Peers Jordan announced his unwelcome presence at last.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

**...Peter's not going mad, by the way. From now on, we're going to have much more Peter POV, because he's going through character development. His whole load of insecurities was mainly based off him grieving for his Father, and of course, now I have to move the plotline on I need him to get more confident...**

**A/N: Oh toadies! I didn't mean for Helen's section to be that long...darn you, Cifel! Anyway...MEGA Peter and Ed fest next chapter, I PROMISE!**

**Cedric: Why did HE have to be in this chapter, huh! I'M the big time OC, right? Um…right? OhcEEcho?**

**IMPORTANT: Out of interest, I'm going to ask for a vote! So people, who will it be? Cifel, or Cedric? Who do you prefer?**

**(Huggles engraved DVD case close) Please review! I missed you all!**


	25. Diversity

**A/N: Okie dokie, then! Time for the boys to get a bit of spotlight for a while. This chapter was absolute hell to write, because there was such a variety of emotions flitting about…sigh I hope I got it right.**

**Disclaimer: Narnia belongs solely to CS Lewis, and I sincerely hope he will not mind me borrowing his characters for a slight variation (cough cough) on his story. **

**Warnings: Nothing really. As ever, a little blood spilt.**

**Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.**

'_This is Peter'_

**_This is Edmund_**

Mistaken Perception

Part One: Late Arrivals

**_Chapter twenty four: Diversity_**

Peter, on impulse, shot bolt upright and grabbed Edmund's arm. He could practically feel the scorching glare which was aimed at the back of his head, but ignored it. He had bigger problems than a sulky brother.

Peers' lip curled slowly upwards, and he leant away from the wall, slowly approaching the two brothers. Edmund's fists clenched, and he ignored the searing burn in his back as he leant forwards.

"What are **you **doing here, Jordan?"

He spat. Peers reached the end of the bed, and leant against the iron rail, cocking an eyebrow. Peter subconsciously shifted around so that he was blocking Edmund from view, and Edmund rolled his eyes.

Peers laughed softly, his sneer contorting into a smirk.

"Can't an artist visit his clients once in a while?"

There was a short pause, as Peter turned around to share a confused look with Edmund. He was beginning to wonder if perhaps Peers was barmier than he was supposed to be. Edmund shook his head exasperatedly and shrugged, glaring at Peers.

"What the bloody hell-! You're mad!"

A malicious gleam kindled in Peers' dark eyes, and he reached over to condescendingly pat Edmund on the head. He chuckled darkly when Peter slapped his hand sharply away.

"No, no, no, my poor deluded little Eddykins. I think you shall find it is _your darling brother _who is mad."

Edmund had expected Peter to grow angry, but his reaction was quite different. Peter blinked, and then flinched as though somebody had struck him. He lowered his gaze to his hands, which had balled into shaking fists, eyes downcast.

Edmund felt a molten surge of rage, and grabbed Peter's shoulder as he levered himself up to his knees in order to shout at Peers:

"Shut up! Shut up, or I swear to God I'll-"

Peers merely smiled.

"You'll what? Don't you understand, little Edmund? Even after all this time, all the little lessons I've taught you, you still don't comprehend?"

Peter jerked violently again, this time so suddenly it felt like he'd been shot. His head snapped up, and he stared hard at Peers with a strange expression on his face. Edmund swallowed dryly, then scowled.

"Peter was a very fast learner. Oh, I remember it so well. A little…resistant…at first, but he learnt his lesson well in the end."

Edmund blinked, and turned to look at his brother. Peter refused to meet his gaze, and instead continued to seemingly stare straight through Peers. He was very pale. Edmund gave his brother's shoulder a squeeze, and Peter lazily met his gaze.

"Peter? What is he…Peter?"

Peers snorted, and gave Peter an incredulous look, eyebrows raised high into his dark hair.

"You never told him? My my my, Peter. It's bad for the character to keep such _trauma _all bottled up. Shall I relieve it for you?"

Peter lunged forwards, and Edmund hissed in pain as he was dragged with him. He fisted his hand into his brother's shirt. It probably wasn't a good idea to let Peter kill him. Yet.

Trauma? What hadn't Peter told him?

"**NO**! You…you just…don't…"

Peter trailed off, and settled for simply glowering heatedly at Peers. Edmund shook his shoulder, and called Peter's name softly, but his brother didn't react. Edmund frowned, and turned back to address Peers in a cold, blunt tone.

"What the hell do you want, Peers?"

Peers put on a face of mock innocence, and gestured to himself before laughing gruffly. Edmund rolled his eyes, and waited for the inevitable slight. He didn't have the patience for this. Susan had always been the negotiator. Or Peter.

But neither of them were really here right now. Not really.

"Aw, over so soon? Oh, very well. I shall get straight to the point."

He abruptly stood, turned on his heel, and began to stride towards the door. Peter and Edmund shared another confused glance, before Peers called over his shoulder:

"I believe it may be in your interest to follow me."

Peter folded his arms across his chest, fists still clenched tightly.

"We're not going anywhere. Or, at least, Edmund isn't."

Edmund frowned, and spun his brother around to face him.

"What! Well, I'm not letting you go anywhere without me, so you have to take me."

"No."

"Peter!"

Edmund fixed him with a serious, intense gaze, trying to convey his feelings simply through boring into his brother's eyes. After an agonisingly long moment, Peter relented, and took a deep breath.

"Neither of us is going."

Edmund felt his frustration slip up another notch. He had a pretty good idea of what Peers was up to; in fact, he was almost certain of it. He had spent the last couple of hours lying awake, contemplating the issue.

"But one of us has to! In fact, why don't you stay here instead, and I'll go?"

It would be easier to not reveal his…certain activities, the dare game…to Peter if he could somehow persuade him to stay here. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, however, he knew it was useless.

"Edmund. You can see the flaw in that reasoning, right?"

Edmund sighed. Well, it had been worth a try. He would just have to be careful. Very careful.

"I was just…oh, never mind. You're far too stubborn."

Peter rolled his eyes, the shadow of a fond smile haunting his lips.

"And you're incorrigible."

Edmund scowled.

"Am not!"

"Are too."

"Much as this is a truly fascinating insight into the inner workings of siblings…"

Peers interrupted, now standing in the doorway of the hospital wing, leaning once more against the door frame.

"…there isn't much time."

Edmund felt again that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach; he licked his dry lips, as Peers stared almost hungrily back at him. He knew. But what choice did he have?

He had to get that inhaler back. No matter what. Who knew what would happen, were Peter to ever get caught in the wrong circumstances without it?

Or perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps it wasn't that at all. Well, he was about to find out, either way.

"Much time till what?"

Peter murmured, clearly apprehensive. A sinister smirk curled Peers' thin lips.

"You'll see."

Peter and Edmund exchanged a glance, and Peter gave him a pleading look. Edmund shook his head firmly, trying desperately hard to not falter under Peter's piercing gaze.

"I'm going."

He said, quietly. Peter sighed wearily, and Edmund felt a stab of guilt, but quickly quashed it. Peter moved over to him, slid off the bed, and wrapped an arm around his brother's waist, helping to lever him up into a proper sitting position.

"Alright. Here, lean on me. Come on."

He said softly, and Edmund curled his arm around his brother's neck, failing to suppress a wince as his feet hit the ground. He stumbled, and Peter's grip tightened; Edmund swallowed as he noted his brother's hands were still wrapped in gauze from the previous punishment.

Peers turned, holding the door open for them with a mocking bow. Peter refused to look him in the eye, as they made their slow progress down the aisle and out into the eerily silent corridor.

He had a terrible feeling that this was a _very_ bad idea.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Peter was fast losing patience, which was quite an unorthodox thing for him to do. He was generally an extremely hard person to aggravate, but ever since he and Edmund had come to this school…

No, ever since Father had died. He could feel the pain dulling every time he thought that, now. Maybe, just maybe, he could grow to accept it. After all, at least Father was safe now, he supposed.

And Edmund need him now. He felt some of his old strength trickle back into him, like molten mercury in his veins. He smiled. Edmund had always been his strength.

He shifted his arm around his brother to a more comfortable position. In truth, he was taking far more weight than he thought he would have. Edmund's face was scrunched up in pain, and he winced whenever he was forced to move his back too much.

The school was very quiet; like the entire place was holding its breath in anticipation of something; something terrible. Peter swallowed, watching his feet, which moved with ease in and out of the moonlight shadows cast by the frosted windows all around them.

Suddenly, up ahead, Peers stopped. Peter blinked, and glanced up, finding they were now at the bottom of a very familiar steep winding staircase.

"Why are we here?"

He murmured, almost to himself. Edmund shifted, fixing him with a quizzical look. The moonlight made his skin almost glow; like a ghost. Peter repressed a shiver, and shook his head, turning to look upwards, into the darkness which the stairs faded into.

They were in the tower. The tower which, only hours ago, Peter had been locked in. Of course, Edmund wasn't to know that; and Peter had no intention of telling him. He had suffered enough at his own hands.

Peter swallowed.

Peers smirked knowingly at him, and swiftly began to ascend. Peter sighed wearily, and hefted Edmund's arm higher around his shoulder. His sigh echoed around the enclosed walls, like a whispering warning.

Edmund's eyes were lidded; the long walk up many flights of stairs had exhausted him completely, and the pain of his injuries shone in his dark eyes. Peter, ignoring his brother's half hearted protests, bent down and lifted his little brother onto his back with some difficulty.

Edmund must have been truly in pain; as he only grunted slightly, and leant his head against the small of his brother's back, in between his shoulder blades. Peter smiled weakly, suddenly feeling a lot stronger, even though his legs ached and the grazes from his 'escape' still stung with clarity.

The ascent was difficult. Peter had to keep himself practically doubled over in order to avoid falling backwards with Edmund's additional weight. He couldn't hold onto the handrail, as both his hands were supporting his brother, and so he simply gritted his teeth and bowed his head.

It seemed to take an age, but finally, he reached the top stair, and carefully lowered Edmund to his feet once more. Edmund rubbed his eyes fiercely, and smiled gratefully. Peers stood rigidly still, a pale, bony hand resting upon a key which was fitted into the lock of the old iron door to the bell tower.

Edmund looked to Peter uncertainly.

"Where are we?"

Peter, however, didn't reply. He had quite a different question on his mind, and his eyes narrowed as he reached out to grab Edmund's elbow to steady him.

"Why are we here, Peers?"

Peers face was cast in shadow, and his chuckle echoed about the space like a Satanic mantra. There was a creaking click, and a screeching of rusty hinges as the door slowly swung open.

"I believe that neither have you has been particularly good brothers, I'm afraid."

There was a stunned silence, before Edmund finally managed to splutter out:

"Wha…how dare you! I-"

Peers made a cutting gesture with his hand, and Peter clutched his brother's shoulder protectively as he exclaimed snappishly:

"Oh, do be quiet for once in your life, Pevensie. Don't you see?"

He lowered his hand, a sickeningly hungry look filling his sharp features. He appeared almost animalistic, only half of his face visible in the feeble light of the moon seeping through the shuttered window pane.

"I hold all the cards. And I mean all. Don't I, Peter? Don't I, Edmund?"

He said softly, almost reverently. Neither brother spoke, as different thoughts and emotions began to fill each of them. Eventually, Peter managed to find his voice, although it shook with a repressed emotion which could have been either anger, or fear.

But it couldn't be fear, Edmund knew. Peter was never _afraid_.

Was he?

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Peter said harshly. Too harshly. His voice shook slightly, and he cleared his throat. Edmund shuddered, feeling suddenly cold.

"But you do. Of course, you do."

Peers murmured, before reaching out a long, pale finger to point straight into the inky blackness of the room beyond. Peter could just make out the vague shape of the bell, and the timbers in the roof.

"Within that room is an item. A certain item which I took the liberty to confiscate. I believe you misplaced a certain vital medicinal aid, hmm, Peter?"

Peter gasped, hand automatically leaping to his pocket, where his inhaler would have been. As it was, all he felt in his pocket were a few dried mint leaves. He raised his gaze to stare disbelievingly at Peers.

"My…that was you! You stole it! Why?"

Edmund felt a sudden surge of pure terror, but it fell as soon as he heard Peers next sentence. It seemed the bully wasn't exploiting that particular weakness. Not yet, at least.

"I needed it. And besides, you weren't using it. But I thought that I should return it. After all, you may well need it soon. Very soon."

And a cold wash of dread swept over both the brothers. Peers ushered them into the room, and Edmund hurried as fast as he could over to the bell, upon which the small blue contraption sat almost innocently.

He handed it to Peter, who stuffed it into his pocket, while Edmund leant heavily against a timber which stood beside the bell. He licked his chapped lips, and spoke in a quietly apprehensive tone:

"What…do you mean?"

Peers moved into the light, his teeth bared as though he was relishing a particularly delicious meal. He slowly clasped his hands behind his back, speaking softly, in a patronisingly worried tone:

"They say there will be he heaviest raid of the war tonight. They say the enemy has created a new weapon. There was a warning. The enemy is coming tonight, all over England."

He smiled.

"There's an evacuation order for this school. Fortunately, I have already informed the headmaster of your departure. Nobody shall miss you."

Before either of the brother's he could do anything but start forwards, gasping in shock, he had leapt through the doorway and slammed the iron door with deafening finality.

There was a mechanical click.

Then his voice sounded from the other side, muffled, but perfectly audible.

"I wonder, little Pevensie's…whether you will suffocate first before you are burnt alive?"

Peter surged forwards, slamming his full weight against the door, and Edmund cried out in fear as he heard the sickening crunch of bone on iron. Peter, however, simply let out a sort of strangled, choking cry of frustration, and smacked his bandaged fist into the unmoving structure.

Harsh, demented laughter sounded from the other side, and the sound of retreating footsteps coupled with a derisive statement.

"The third and final round to me, it seems."

Edmund stiffened, straightening up, and called out desperately as Peter rattled the handle on the door in despair.

"Peers, this isn't a game! If we can't get out, we'll…"

"…die?"

A ringing silence.

"Well, that's a pity. At least nobody will hear you scream."

The two brothers' could only stare helplessly at the blank starkness of the iron door, as Peers' retreating footsteps slowly faded. His last parting words echoed about the very recesses of their minds, stirring long sleeping demons as fear enfolded them in it's numbing embrace.

For a long time after, they simply stood in silence, as the night seemed to grow colder and colder about them.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

**A/N: Feeeeeeel the tension mounting! Oh, this is so good! Woo! Beware of the oncoming angstyness!**

**V.IMPORTANT: I cannot believe this, but I am going away for a few days. Only FOUR (wails and beats fists against desk) WHY ME! Anyway. So no update until Sunday, probably.**

**Ok, results for the voting! **

**Cedric: 4**

**Cifel: 7**

**And the winner iiiiiiiiis…Cifel. Now there's a surprise… Nothing can beat a Narnian, hmm? Sorry, Ced! But Cifel get's the A/N back. **

**Cifel: Booyeah, uh huh, oh yeah, I rule! GO ME! (does victory dance)**

**Cedric: O.O**

**Cifel: Ahem…I mean…that's…good…(blushes)**


	26. Incendiary

**A/N: This chapter is thanks to Kelsey Estel, who wrote such a convincing prompt that I just couldn't leave her hanging. Thanks honey! Hope you enjoy it! **

**We're getting close to Narnia now, so prepare yourselves for ACTUAL plot development, coming to a computer near you, very soon!**

**Disclaimer: Narnia belongs solely to CS Lewis, and I sincerely hope he will not mind me borrowing his characters for a slight variation (cough cough) on his story. **

**Warnings: Nothing really. As ever, a little blood spilt.**

**Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.**

'_This is Peter'_

_**This is Aslan**_

Mistaken Perception

Part One: Late Arrivals

**_Chapter twenty five: Incendiary_**

"They might not come. There's a chance…they might not hit the school. Or they'll miss. Peter?"

Peter shot him a glance, sighed, and idly wiped the dust from his fingertips. He turned to face the frosted window, frowning as he eyed the newly fitted pane and iron barring which prevented a second escape.

He wondered if Groundskeeper Willy had been informed of the nature of his task. If he had, Peter felt sure he would have objected. Unless he, too, now thought one or both of them mad.

He shivered.

"I guess."

He murmured, noncommittally. Edmund gave him an exasperated look, and slid down the wall he had been leaning against in order to lower himself carefully to the dusty floor.

"These weren't here before."

Peter said out loud, more to himself than to Edmund, as he tapped the thick glass through which he could see the inch wide iron poles which formed the bars of their cage. A birdcage, he supposed. They were trapped like domesticated doves.

"When you _jumped _out a window, is that what you're talking about?"

Edmund said dryly, raising a delicate eyebrow. Peter shrugged, turning around and folding his arms across his chest.

"I didn't jump, I've already told you. It was a tactical retreat."

As he said this, he wandered over to the door, trying the handle half heartedly. Edmund followed his progress as he frowned, and began scanning the room for something which might help him.

"Oh really?"

Peter snatched up a bent nail from a fallen post, and hurried over to begin fiddling with the keyhole.

"Yes really. It was necessary."

He cursed softly as the nail snapped clean in two, sending a shower of splintered, rusty metal flying.

"Oh, so I'm a necessity now?"

Peter's bowed head snapped up sharply, and he fixed his brother with a severe look. Edmund blinked, taken aback, as Peter spoke softly with conviction.

"You're my family, and I promised Father…but more than that, Ed, you're my brother, and you're important to me. Understand that I'm not just tailing you about for my own peace of mind."

Edmund did not know what to say in return, so he said nothing; and instead contented himself to nodding and shifting about to try to find a more comfortable spot on the floor. Unfortunately, wooden floorboards are not, as a rule, made for tender buttocks and there is not a lot anybody can do about it.

"You alright?"

Edmund smiled despite the severity of their situation, attempting a weak joke.

"I'm fine, apart from a certain amount of affront to my rear."

Peter surprised his brother by managing a genuine laugh, his face lighting up with amusement. The room seemed less dark, then, for a single moment, before Peter's face fell into a sort of wistful, sad expression.

"Good old Ed. Never change, little brother."

Edmund looked at him quizzically, but he said no more on the subject. Edmund automatically reached for the segmented metal strap of his Father's watch, loose on his wrist, and vaguely noted that it was now early morning.

"When do the planes usually come?"

He asked surprisingly casually. For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to feel afraid. There was a certain peace in the anticipation of conflict. Peter, too, seemed agitated and tense, but by no means afraid.

"Round about now, I think. From the reports I've read in the morning paper."

Edmund looked at him in surprise. Peter's back was to him, and he seemed to be searching for something in his pocket.

"You read the morning paper? Old man."

Peter scowled at him as Edmund smiled innocently, before rolling his eyes. It was almost impossible to stay mad at his brother. Edmund had been blessed with an impish wit which bought him his fair share of troubles over the years. But it also lightened the mood, more often than not.

"Since Narnia, I've taken an interest in external affairs. You know, the world around us and all that. Politics can be strangely fascinating, in a twisted way."

For a moment, it seemed as though it was the High King of Narnia who spoke to his brother, rather than pale faced, world weary Peter Pevensie. Peter continued to talk in low tones as he tried method after countless method with the lock, the door itself, the tiny gap between the door and the doorpost. With each new try, he grew more and more agitated.

Edmund smiled slightly as Peter spoke at length of current affairs; anything to dispel the silence. Peter had a very soothing voice.

"…still with me, Ed?"

Edmund jolted from his semi-stupor, and rubbed his face sleepily, smiling sheepishly. He nodded, and opened his mouth to answer, when he froze.

The silence had been broken by a distant, far away drone of engines, and below them a terrible, high pitched wailing sounded. It blared up and down the octaves, emitting a horrible warning. Directly below them, the rafters in the tower began to shake.

Peter hurried over to Edmund and took his elbow, dragging him unsteadily to his feet. Edmund hissed, the pain in his back returning with vengeance. Peter lugged his brother's arm around his shoulder, and scanned the room once more.

"If we cant get out…"

He muttered feverishly to himself, as the tower began to shudder. The droning grew nearer and nearer, became more defined, until they could hear each individual whirr of the mechanical war machines.

"…then maybe…"

Edmund glanced up, trying to gauge the enemy with a military precision reminiscent of King Edmund the Just. There were about…two planes, only two. They might just have a chance. If they were poor shots, that was. Obviously Hitler did not consider St Lewis' a significant threat to world domination…

Suddenly, the engines cut out.

"Edmund, **down**!"

Pain exploded in Edmund's torso as the full weight of his brother slammed into his back, sending them both slamming into the floor. He gritted his teeth as Peter wrapped his arms around him and laid his head over Edmund's, shielding his brother's entire body with his own.

Edmund's head reeled, as his brain struggled to process the information pouring unstemmed into it. Eventually, he managed to make sense of the situation, just as a shrill whistling filled the air.

"Peter, you-"

His voice was drowned in the deafening roar of the explosion, and he gasped as Peter's arms tightened convulsively around him. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut as the tower jolted dangerously, Peter's head pressing sharply into the back of his neck.

After an echoing moment of aftermath, a low, rising sound of splintering timber and the tinkle of falling tiles filled the air. Peter cautiously sat up, raising his head to peer through the nimbus of dust which surrounded them.

The window had been completely shattered, having been built to withstand human hands but not an explosion. The bars, however, remained ironically intact. Peter jumped unsteadily to his feet, and scrambled over to the window, clutching the sill in order to peer through the sharded edges of the pane; down, at the wing below them.

He could see two wraith like shapes sailing in sequence away, up into the grey clouds above them. Their job done, the planes seemed disinclined to witness the destruction they had inflicted.

He wondered if the pilots knew…that they were bombing a school. A school filled with children. If they had…they would have supposed wrong. For there were no hordes of lifeless corpses piled in disentangled pieces. Only two children would suffer tonight.

But not if Peter had his way.

He lowered his gaze, down, until they met with the billowing stream of thick, black smoke which poured from the gaping holes in the roof below them. Beneath the blackness, he could see a pulsating glow which seemed to lick higher and higher, and he watched, transfixed, as the first tendrils of flame spiralled up into the cool morning air.

"…incendiary bomb…"

Edmund managed to wheeze out, rising from his fallen position with a grimace. Peter nodded curtly, and tore his gaze away from the destruction beneath them.

"Edmund."

Edmund looked up at him, flecks of dust and rubble smudging his face. He seemed unharmed. Peter was vaguely aware of thousands of tiny stings all across his aching body, like a swarm of angry bees from head to toe, but paid them no heed. He pushed his hair from his eyes, and hurried over to help Edmund to sit against the wall once more.

"Edmund, we can't escape. I've tried, but there's no way. The door won't budge, the window's blocked."

He said, matter-of-factly, though his voice shook. Edmund's eyes darkened, a savage, coldly calculating acceptance filling them.

"So. The only way out of here is in pieces."

He said, bitterly. Peter bit his lip, eyes roving around the room. Think, he compelled himself, think. There's always a way. Unbidden, an old proverb of Narnia filtered through the panic fogging his brain.

_The Lion has prepared the way_

_Rise up and trust in the light of the Lord._

Peter felt a familiar warmth spreading within his chest, and he blinked, the sounds of destruction fading and becoming indistinct.

'_Aslan?'_

**_The tolling of a flower in Spring, gave warning to the Son of Man._**

Peter's thoughts were sluggish, entranced as he was by the enveloping warmth.

'_Tolling…of a flower? But…flowers don't 'toll', only Bells…'_

Suddenly, the answer slammed into him like a tonne of bricks, and the warmth faded to be replaced by a burning, renewed sense of purpose.

"Bells!"

Peter's eyes snapped open, to find he had already snatched up the key to the puzzle which had been beside him all along. He hefted it up in his hands, ignoring Edmund's pleas for an explanation.

_**Be well, my Son.**_

With a cry of exertion, he brought the metal hammer which had aided him mere hours ago up high, to bring it crashing into the side of the bell in the centre of the tower with tremendous force.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cedric yelped, and he toppled sideways off the bed with a resounding thump. The dying echo of the foreign sound rebounded off the thin walls of the community hall, and many boys around him clapped their hands to their ears, hissing in pain.

There was general chaos which replaced the sound, the scraping of rusty metal as the endless rows of camp beds were shifted in the confusion.

"What the hell-"

"It sounded like a bell! Just like church bells, at home!"

"But the Church doesn't have a bell, idiot!"

Cedric levered himself upwards, scowling, and sent a harsh glare towards the two boys who argued in this way. It was true, the church in the village (just a few hundred yards down the road from the school) had no bells.

But then…

"SILENCE!"

Cedric blotted out the tirade of Henley, who had been placed in charge of this particular group of boys. The entirety of the school population had been moved late the previous afternoon, some to community halls, others to churches, and any free space which had a roof over its head, really.

The operation had been sloppy, as nobody had thought to bring a register. A head count had been attempted, but there was really no way to tell if everybody had made it out or not.

Cedric had not seen any of his friends, apart from a few boys from his dormitory. Apparently, there had been rumours of Boarding schools and other stately homes being bombed; et voila, Cedric was cold and damp and miserable.

"I **hate **war."

Cedric muttered mutinously, wriggling his little toe with fascination through a hole in his sock, frowning. Where had the sound come from? It had sounded like-

"Hey, that sounded like it came from the school!"

Cedric shot a disturbed book towards the boy who had spoken his incomplete thoughts aloud, and immediately the mutterings began again. Henley turned a horrible puce colour, and slammed his rounder's bat (his only souvenir from the gym) repeatedly into a nearby wall, calling for silence.

"Alright, listen up, ya little…"

Henley shot a furtive glance at Headmaster Havisham, who was drinking a hot mug of coffee beside the door, and was giving the PE teacher a piercing look.

"…pupils. Shut up and go to sleep. It was just…thunder."

There was assorted grumbles, as the boys shuffled once more back to their respective beds, slipping once more under coarse, scratchy sheets and murmuring to each other. Cedric, however, remained perfectly still, gazing out of the window, a bright flame being reflected in his light blue eyes.

A boy who was just a few feet away from him was just straightening to put on his glasses, when he, too, noticed what Cedric was looking at. His eyes widened, and he opened his mouth wide to shout out:

"FIRE!"

He took a deep, gasping breath and managed to call out frantically towards the teachers.

"The school! The school's on fire!"

In the following chaos, Cedric slipped away from the rushing crowds towards the windows, and instead crept through the shadows to crouch beside the table where the teacher's had gathered, while Henley attempted once more to restore order.

"Now, everybody calm down-"

Havisham said weakly, before giving up his pupils as a lost cause, and whirling on Doctor Evesham. Evesham appeared composed and calm, his varnished shoes shifting only slightly; for that was all Cedric could see of him, under the table.

"Thomas, are you absolutely sure you accounted for everyone? Even those in the detention hall?"

Evesham's feet shuffled over to stand beside Havisham's, and Cedric slipped backwards to press himself against the wall, listening intently.

"Why yes, I believe so Sir. Everyone is…by Jove-!"

Evesham seemed to reel in realisation, and a very strange emotion filled his usually calm voice: fear.

"Was anything done for the Pevensie brothers?"

Cedric felt his heart plummet down in his chest, and he gritted his teeth in anger. How could they? How could the _bastards_ have simply _forgotten _them! His hands curled into fists and began to shake as Henley's wide berth approached them, having returned from terrorising the pupils.

"Doctor, I sent a boy to inform ya that they were to be escorted from the premises. Didn't ya get the message?"

Cedric's heart began to beat painfully fast.

"…no…most certainly, I did not…"

Evesham trailed off, as Cedric knelt up to peer over the rim of the table. The Doctor ran a hand frantically through his hair, and then turned very slowly to face the window. A seemingly insignificant event had suddenly taken on a whole new meaning.

"But then…"

Havisham and Henley both turned to gaze out at the window at the far off shape of the school, silhouetted in the darkness against bright wreathes of flame devouring the structure.

There was a short pause, before Evesham finally pulled himself together and found his voice.

"The bell in the Tower! Quick! Somebody call the Air Raid Wardens, immediately! Henley, could you-"

He was interrupted as Henley turned to the swarm of highly alarmed students and bellowed almost frantically:

"**PEVENSIE**! HAS ANYBODY SEEN EITHER OF THE PEVENSIE'S? **ANSWER ME!**"

There was absolute silence, and as one body the pupils each turned this way and that, standing on tiptoe, but no answering call came. The terrible truth began to sink in, and the faces of all the boys began to turn very white. A few sank to their camp beds, their heads falling into their hands.

As the whisperings turned into fully fledged panic once again, Cedric scrambled around the table as the teachers turned to each other in a huddle, muttering feverishly under their breaths:

"I don't suppose…one of the other teachers, perhaps…"

"We three were the only who were informed of their whereabouts. The good doctor did not want to alarm the students."

"Mr Henley…who did you send, with the message? Are they here?"

"Why, I sent Jordan along. Peers Jordan."

Cedric jerked as though shot, and a sharp gasp escaped his lips. He snapped his head around, a molten anger filling the pit of his stomach, and saw Jay and Charlie, Peers' loyal flunkies, standing quite alone, leaning casually against the wall.

Cedric barely suppressed a savage snarl, and turned reluctantly back to listen to the continuing debate. Every second which passed was a second lost, and a second Peter and Edmund did not have to spare. What were these people thinking!

"Jordan? But isn't that the boy on the files? The…unstable one?"

"You're the psychiatrist, Doc. Nobody told me he was scrambled. Besides, aren't the Pevensie's supposed to be batty, too?"

Henley leaned conspiratorially towards Evesham, as Havisham, face deathly pale, stumbled away muttering something about more coffee. Cedric felt a vein pulse in his temple. He did not have time for this.

His head snapped up as he just managed to catch Henley's hushed words:

"Listen, Doc. The towers already on fire, and that place is tighter than the rim of my waistline, if you know what I mean."

Henley patted his large paunch, laughing harshly but quietly at his little joke, and Cedric felt a sharp stab of disgust and loathing fill his chest. What did he think this was, a game?

"By the time the wardens get there, it'll be half collapsed. Either that or they'll have already died from the smoke. What's the authorities gonna say, huh? Who'll be blamed?"

Ah, so that was it, thought Cedric bitterly. The selfish bastard was thinking only of himself; as if their deaths were certain, as if they couldn't be saved, and who would be blamed.

Who was to blame…

Peers Jordan…

The name swirled around his head, entrenched within a crimson taboo, like blood. Peers did this. Peers was to blame. Peers, somehow, had done this. Somehow. Somehow…

"Sir, are you suggesting that we leave two innocent children-"

"Two innocent _batty _children. What do they have to return to, eh? One of your institutes? They'd probably be better off dead."

Cedric had heard enough.

He struggled to his feet, and lumbered across the hall, tripping over camp beds and overturning them in his haste. Indignant cries and clatters were left in his wake, but he saw only the small wall phone which hung by the door.

He fumbled with the hand piece, and hurriedly placed a finger in the dial and turned it, then again, turning until the numbers spun before his vision. The mechanical whirring made the whole room seem surreal, and he pressed the receiver so hard to his ear he could feel the pulse in his head.

For a long, agonising moment, all he could hear was a terrible ringing. Then, a gruff voice sounded at the other end.

"Hello? ARP wardens office?"

He said in a gabbled rush. He hesitated, shot one last glance at the blazing inferno which was the school, and turned back to the receiver in despair.

"Look out of your bloody window, the school's been bombed! AND THERE ARE PEOPLE DYING IN THERE!"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

**A/N: WE'RE ALMOST IN NARNIA! WOO! Reference to IS, for all you loyal readers. A rounder's bat is like a baseball bat, but smaller, for reference sake…**

**Cifel: Oooh, I got the A/N back. What to do, what to say? Who to threaten? Choices, choices…**

**Cedric: (bound and gagged) mrrrrrrrrmph mrrph mumph!**

**Translation:Try telling them to review, dumbass.**

**Cifel!!! (indistinct cursing)**

**I know I've been a bad, bad author, but each review is a brick less in the writers block wall! Please review!**


	27. Out of the frying pan

**A/N: Well, this was an absolute BUGGER to write, let me tell you, and the hardest is yet to come! Please comment and tell me what you think!**

**Disclaimer: Narnia belongs solely to CS Lewis, and I sincerely hope he will not mind me borrowing his characters for a slight variation (cough cough) on his story. **

**Warnings: Nothing really. As ever, a little blood spilt.**

**Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.**

**REMEMBER THESE:**

_This is flashback voices_

_**This is Aslan**_

**This is Cedric (!)**

Mistaken Perception

Part One: Late Arrivals

_**Chapter twenty six: Out of the frying pan…**_

There was smoke, everywhere. Not thin and dwindling, pearly white, like that which spiraled from a steam locomotive or from a cottage roof. Thick, grey, choking smoke spilled through the splintered cracks made by the blast. The floor shuddered beneath his feet, and a pulsating glow from the oncoming flames filtered through the cracks in the boards below.

"Edmund!"

He dropped down below the layer of thick air to the thin, oxygen starved area below, but at least he could see. Bent double, he scanned the edges of the room for any sign of his brother.

"Edmund, answer me! Where-"

He heard an erratic scrabbling coming from somewhere to his left, and straightened up a little. Immediately, he downed a gulp of soot laden air and choked, spitting it out with disgust. He ducked down once more and hurried towards the sound of the scrabbling.

"Over here!"

He could feel his lungs begin to ache, and his throat tickle, and a fresh wave of unbearable heat slashed across his cheek like a whiplash current. He winced, and hurriedly tugged of his blazer as an indistinct figure loomed up ahead.

"Ed, get down where the air's clearer! Where the bloody hell are you?"

Suddenly, Edmund's scrunched soot smudged face appeared before him, and he jumped in surprise. Edmund fumbled in his pocket, and retrieved a dirty cloth with a hand shaking with suppressed adrenaline. Peter took his elbow and pulled him carefully down, mindful of his brother's back, and manoeuvring them both over towards a patch of flooring where the smoke was thinner.

"How long…do you think…"

Edmund panted, taking deep, whooping breaths, his hands resting on his knees. The eerie up-lighting of the fire not so far below them mixed with cast shadows made his face look sallow and haggard.

"…the tower'll last? Can't be long…till the main beams…collapse…"

Peter felt a pulse strain against the recesses of his skull, the blood roaring in his ears in a demanding bid for oxygen. He pushed it to the back of his mind, taking quickened, shallow breaths and swallowing in an attempt not to start choking. He shoved clinging strands of hair sticky with sweat and tried to think.

"We'll be out before then. They'll come. They have to."

Peter managed to grate out hoarsely, pressing a hand to his mouth and coughing weakly. Edmund slowly raised his head, his dark eyes seeming endlessly black in the gloom. A sudden creaking and splintering, followed by a loud crash indicated the ever pressing presence of the fire, but Edmund solemnly held his gaze:

"And if they don't?"

Peter reached out his hand to rest against the nearest solid object for support, but hissed and cried out as his fingers met with scalding hot iron. They both turned, to find the bell of the tower growing crimson pink with heat. The beams about it, made of dark wood reinforced with metal binding, were creaking ominously.

Peter stared at it, then allowed his gaze to slide down to the neatly square hole in the floor which fitted snugly about it. There were a few inches leeway between the bell and the edges of the hole, to allow it to swing gently. His gaze swivelled up, to the frayed string connected to a hook; the only thing holding the bell up.

The tower was hollow, like a polo sweet, with an inner wall between the spiral staircase and the chamber which ran its entire length. Attached to the beams either side of the bell were three long ropes, falling down into the darkness below, which had probably once been used to ring the bell from the bottom floor.

A chamber running down the middle. To the bottom floor. Rope. Frayed rope on a hook. A hole in the floor. The bell.

"Peter?"

A sudden hiss and flare of heat announced the final arrival of the flames themselves. They poured through a rapidly widening fissure in the floor across the room, licking up at the surrounding room as if it were tinder wood. To Peter, it seemed as though the very fires of hell had come to consume them.

He shrugged off his school blazer, wrapped his hand around the collar and beat at the nearest flame with it, and it eventually flickered and died. Edmund caught on and he, too, began to smother the flames, albeit a little stiffly. But it was quite obvious there was no point.

Peter gagged on the ever thickening air, his lungs convulsing, screaming for oxygen. He ducked down, took a deep breath, and called out with all the remaining breath in his chest:

"Edmund, stop it. It's useless. Stand back."

Peter stumbled back, standing unsteadily beside the bell once more. Edmund followed, shielding his face and head with his blazer, a hand over his mouth.

"But, Peter, what are you going to…"

Peter reached out with his right hand, then hesitated, and swapped to his left instead. The heat emanating from the smooth structure of the bell was so intense he could feel his nerves begin to sting even as he reached towards it.

He glanced back at Edmund, more to reassure himself rather than his brother.

"There's only one way out of here."

He murmured, before squeezing his eyes tightly shut and allowing his hand to move toward the scorching hook which the bell was hanging from.

"Oh, **hell **no…Peter **DON'T**!"

Peter cried out in agony as needling sears of pure untamed heat racked the very marrow in his arm bones. He forced his searing skin to remain sealed to the hook, as he lifted the bell slowly from its restraining hook, trying to pretend he was simply serving another one of Henley's weightlifting detentions.

He heard a clink, and lifted upwards with all the strength he could muster before allowing the crushing weight to fall from his hands. He slumped back against one of the beams forming the crossbeam for the bell as he heard a soft whoosh before a deafening clang from below him.

He allowed his eyes to drift open, and held his left wrist rigidly still to avoid any resulting aftershock to be increased. He flinched at the slight movement as he turned to wheeze in his brother's general direction:

"Come…on! Not much…time…"

He caught his brother's sleeve with his right arm and brought him forwards. Edmund, finally managing to tear his gaze away from his brother's thoroughly scalded hand, stared down into the seemingly endless dark below the hole with wide eyes.

Very slowly, he shook his head, and waited for Peter to finish his hacking fit before speaking quietly, rubbing the small of his aching back with a wince.

"Peter, I…I can't make that. I'm sorry. I just…"

Edmund gritted his teeth, seeming to curse his own weakness, as Peter clapped a hand over his mouth to force himself to stop coughing. The air grew thicker with every passing moment, and the atmosphere about them seemed to pulsate with leaden heat.

"I'd lose my grip. I'd fall. And what good would that do? You go-"

Peter's tightened his grip around his brother's wrist painfully, forcing Edmund to meet his eyes. He abruptly cut his brother off mid sentence, managing to grit darkly out through a clenched jaw:

"Don't…dare…"

Somehow, his burning desire for oxygen seemed to dissipate almost completely as he saw the self hatred and fear within Edmund's eyes.

"Don't you dare tell me to go on without you. You…you know I wouldn't."

He idly wiped the sweat from his brow and breathed heavily through his nose, levering himself down onto the floor and swinging his legs over the edge and into the hole. Edmund started forwards, a strangled sound escaping him, and Peter fixed him with a look which, unknowingly to him, painfully resembled his Father's 'that's final' expression.

"We'll both go."

Edmund crouched down, ignoring the pain in his back, and shook Peter's shoulder exasperatedly. The flames licked ever higher, seeming almost to surround them like some sinister enemy foreign force.

"How? Peter-"

"I'll find a way. I'll carry you."

"But-"

"I won't drop you, I promise."

"I won't let you do this! I won't let you risk yourself for me!"

"I'm not leaving this tower without you, and you know that. And if we don't both leave down that hole, we'll be leaving in an entirely different sense."

A steadily crackling blaze had begun to kindle behind them, pressing in, suffocating. Edmund glanced around, huddling closer to his brother under the beam structure. He took a deep, shuddering breath, coughed once, and abruptly positioned himself behind his brother's back, crouched and tense.

"I can't believe I'm doing this."

He wrapped his arms around Peter's neck and his legs around his brother's waist, clinging tightly while Peter fixed himself a good grip on the nearest rope. Edmund did not miss the slight jolt as his brother was forced to move his injured hand.

"Ready?"

Peter muttered, shuffling slowly forwards until the swing of gravity was the only thing between them and an uncertain journey to ground level. Edmund clenched his jaw and tightened his hold, glowering at the back of his brother's head.

"Peter, if we get out of this, I swear I'm going to kill you."

Peter managed a weak, fragmented chuckle, followed by a hastily stifled bout of hacking. As he spoke, he shuffled painstakingly closer and closer to the edge of the hole;

"I feel so appreciated…kindly wait till we're saved before that, huh, Ed? And give me a head start or something…"

Before without warning, he tipped all of their weight forward and swung across and down into darkness. Edmund, caught off guard, barely had time to scream.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cedric stood perfectly still at the bottom of the hill, head tilted upwards at an awkward angle. He did not bother to glance aside as yet another groaning fire engine, paint peeling and bell clanging desperately, shot past him up the road. The insignia of the fire brigade had been replaced with the initials ARP, and the roof painted black to avoid sighting from enemy aircraft.

It had been a close call; he had rung the wardens office, and almost immediately slipped out the side door of the community hall before anyone noticed he had gone. It was likely Havisham had ordered the boys back to bed after the uproar had died down.

He had little time; sooner or later somebody would notice that one camp bed was empty.

He knew full well it would be practical suicide to go up there; the fire was still raging, despite the ARP warden's best efforts to control it. There was also the high possibility of unexploded bombs; German bombers never left a single parting gift.

He stared up in grotesque awe as the hellish flames devoured the blackened shell of the west wing, while a second fire crept slowly up the tower towards the bell room. He swallowed thickly.

A gentle breeze, stifling warm and somehow mocking, lifted his sweat soaked fringe upwards to toss in the slip stream. He clenched his eyes tightly shut, fists beginning to shake at his side, and bowed his head in defeat and perhaps premature grievance.

What if it was already too late?

What if there was nothing but blackened corpses left to save, bright eyes wide open and staring accusingly…

The dam burst, and Cedric let out a strangled scream, shuddering violently. He entwined his hands in his fiery hair, pulling his head down until he was bent double, his face beginning to ache and his eyes stinging. A flood of white hot anger mixed with leaden guilt began to tear him apart inside.

All at once, he froze rigid.

"_Doctor, I sent a boy to inform ya that they were to be escorted from the premises. Didn't ya get the message?"_

"_Mr Henley…who did you send, with the message? Are they here?"_

"_Why, I sent Jordan along. Peers Jordan."_

'**Who is to blame? Who did this? Who killed the Pevensie brother's?'**

Cedric's mind worked sluggishly through a red haze of anger. Slowly, agonisingly, the pieces slid into place; and a single name reared its ugly head, echoing around and around mockingly in his mind:

'…**Peers Jordan…Peers Jordan…Peers Jordan…'**

Peers wasn't one to stand idly by; he would be here, somewhere, drinking in the sight of his victory like the sick bastard he was. Cedric slowly uncurled himself, usually bright watery blue eyes dulled to a deep, dark stormy grey.

Just as the first light droplets of rain tumbled uncertainly from the heavens, Cedric flung back his head and screamed for all the world to hear:

"PEERS JORDAN, I AM GOING TO **KILL **YOU!"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Peter could feel Edmund's hot breath against the back of his neck, and gritted his teeth as he felt Edmund's heart pumping painfully fast against his back. He swallowed thickly, wincing as the motion burned his throat, as sweat ran down his brow, cooling his flushed cheeks slightly.

His entire body ached dully, the places where tiny flecks of debris had been blasted into his flesh stinging like a sore. His arms shook with tension and adrenaline, and the left was slick with blood on the rope.

"Peter?"

Edmund's thin voice in his ear made him start, and he slackened his hold, slipping down the rope jerkily before tightening his grip with a grimace. Edmund gasped, his arms tightening around Peter's neck.

"How far down are we?"

Peter risked a glance downwards, but could still see nothing but inky blackness below them. He gulped as Edmund's weight on his back made him slip further backwards, and grunted as he pressed himself closer around the rope.

"Not sure."

He murmured brusquely, concentrating on not loosening his grip. It felt like an age since they had first slipped into the hole, and it had taken a long while for them to begin their perilous descent. Peter's bare arms and legs were covered all over with smarting rope burns, and Edmund's back was not faring much better, hunched over as he was.

"Not much further though, Ed. I promise."

Peter felt Edmund wince into his neck and drew in as deep a breath as he dared, before beginning to shimmy carefully down the rope once more. They swung gently from side to side, an ominous creaking above them making Peter feel nervous.

"Peter, the-"

The rope suddenly jerked violently, and they both cried out as they were jostled loose from the edge. Peter snapped his head up, gazing with wide eyes up at the postage stamp sized square of light which indicated the hole above.

They were swinging at a tilted angle. The rope was fraying.

Peter feverishly began to slide down the rope, trying desperately to quicken their progress. Edmund's fingers were shaking, clenched into fists in a desperate to quell their shaking. Peter himself repressed the dark shadow of panic which loomed in his mind.

"Peter, it won't hold us!"

Peter ignored his brother, pursing his lips and biting down on them until a copper well seeped into his mouth. They slid down jerkily, Peter's abrasions become long grazes, as the scratchy fibres dug into his bare skin.

The creaking and strain on the rope grew louder and louder, before with an almost silent snap, the final few threads gave way.

Within the few split seconds it took them to fall the last ten feet to the hard stone floor below them, Peter's only thoughts were that of his brother. Somehow, even he was not sure precisely how, but somehow he managed to position himself so that Edmund would fall onto his own back and not onto the floor.

Peter hit the stone with a sickening smack, followed by the muffled thump and hitched breathing as Edmund slammed into his brother's immobile body. Edmund made a strangled sound of pain, and for a moment simply lay rigidly still, trembling.

Eventually, the now steady flow of clean air to his mind aided his senses, and he levered himself unsteadily up onto his elbows. He glanced up, listening to the sound of his own harsh breathing in the otherwise almost silent chamber. The sounds of crackling flames seemed thankfully far away.

He reached out a soot smudged hand, and gently shook his brother's shoulder.

"Peter, come on. Get up. We have to…get out of here…Peter?"

Peter did not respond.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

'**This is crazy. I must be utterly mad. Off my rocker.'**

Cedric walked steadily through the long rain sodden grass, the green blades seeming to cling to his legs, as though they were pulling him back. The night was bitterly cold despite the heat of the blaze up ahead, but he allowed himself to shiver, goose-bumps rising up his arms.

'**Now. If I was a sick, delusional bastard, where would I hide to watch…watch…'**

Cedric refused to complete the thought, cutting it off with finality. He had to focus. Once Peers was back in the company of adults, there was no hope of retribution; of justice. After all, who ever listened to children?

"Where are you?"

Cedric muttered aloud, the rain pouring down in cascades from the damp red curls in his eyes. The cool moisture flowed steadily down his cheeks in a sick mockery of weeping, but Cedric could find no place in his heart for sorrow; so consumed was he with rage.

'**He killed them.'**

He stared around the darkness of the road, the bramble hedges alongside it, the fencing which ran around the edges of the school grounds. The fire had spread now, consuming the hedges on either side of the road as though it was a trail of gunpowder.

'**They're dead. He killed them.'**

He began to run, staring wildly around, for a figure, a shadow outlined against the blaze, a murderer. A murderer skulked in the darkness, watching the evil dealt by his very hand, laughing…

…laughing…

Caught upon the breath of the wind, harsh, disjointed laughter penetrated Cedric's thought. It rose, and fell, in pitch and dynamics, like a melodious eulogy, a eulogy mocking the dead. Thou shalt not dishonour those passed. Thou shalt not kill. Thou shalt not kill.

'**He killed them.'**

Thou shalt not kill.

'**They're dead.'**

Thou shalt not kill.

'**He killed them.'**

A shadow mere metres ahead; his shadow, the shadow of a murderer, a murderer skulking in the dark, hiding, watching, laughing. Thou shalt not kill. Thou shalt not kill.

'**He killed them. He killed them. He killed them.'**

"You…you killed them!"

The shadow faltered and choked, a pair of hands closing around his throat from behind, gagging, choking, bones creaking, erratic pulses beneath Cedric's fingers. A pulse, a heartbeat, choking, murder. Murderer. Murderer.

"**MURDERER! **You killed them! You **KILLED **them!"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

…**woah. Angst.**

**A/N: I hadn't originally intended Cedric, of all people, to go after Peers…but unfortunately I rather incapacitated the brother's! Sorry, boys! **

**Next chapter: The plot twist of dubious significance which nobody has anticipated! And when I say nobody I mean nobody! .**

**Cedric: WHY THAT $&£&$&$&$&$!**

**Cifel: Um…uh…(speechless) I'll just…go…now…(edges away)**

**(Sledgehammers writers block) I think we're breaking through, here! REVIEW for the poor boys, and for ASLAN, the dude who makes it all happen!**


	28. Into the fire

**A/N: I'M SO SORRY! I had a dilemma over the events in this chapter, and had to consult several outside sources for opinions (cheers Shauna!). I hope it turned out okay…(holds breath and crosses fingers)**

**Plus I accidentally got a boyfriend halfway through writing the chapter and got a little distracted…as you can imagine Sorry! **

**Disclaimer: Narnia belongs solely to CS Lewis, and I sincerely hope he will not mind me borrowing his characters for a slight variation (cough cough) on his story. **

**Warnings: Nothing really. As ever, a little blood spilt.**

**Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.**

**REMEMBER THESE:**

_This is flashback voices_

_**Edmund**_

**This is Cedric (!)**

_This is Peers, as well._

Mistaken Perception

Part One: Late Arrivals

**_Chapter twenty seven: …into the fire_**

A sickening wave of leaden terror coursed through Edmund's veins like coarse white fire, and the blood drained from his face as he shook his brother harder, then fumbled to place two trembling forefingers against Peter's exposed neck.

There was a strong pulse beating against his fingers. Erratic, fluctuating, but very much present. Edmund almost choked with relief, feeling bile rise in his throat, and repressed the urge to vomit. The phrase 'worried sick' suddenly took on a whole new meaning.

Edmund shifted clumsily around until he was next to Peter's head, glancing around and up at the tower. The far off roar of the fire seemed to grow with every passing second, and although the room was dimly lit from the incendiary glow, he could see no obvious way out.

"Peter?"

He whispered hoarsely, slipping one hand beneath his brother's cheek and the other around his chest, heaving him carefully up off the floor. He froze, however, when he felt something sticky seep between his fingers and slip languidly to the floor, joining a rapidly growing stain.

His heart skipped a beat.

Pursing his lips and swallowing thickly, he lifted his brother's head higher, until he could make out his features in the gloom. His breath hitched as he noticed the fair hair above his brother's right temple was darkened with blood.

"You…bloody…"

He almost laughed at the irony of that statement, and realised he must be going hysterical with anxiety. He abruptly gathered his scattered wits, and pulled his brother's head hastily up onto his knees, freeing his hands so he could tear a strip from his shirt.

"Peter, please, answer me…we've got to get out of here, remember? We've…got to get out of here…"

Edmund continued to mutter feverishly, more to himself than to Peter, pressing the thin strip of cotton tightly against his brother's head wound. Blemished bruising had begun to swell around the cut, and Edmund silently cursed his brother's idiocy.

Suddenly, a crack, creaking, and the sound of splintering wood sounded above them. Edmund's head snapped up, staring, and could make out the vague shape of something swaying high above them.

Peter groaned, and shifted, and Edmund looked from him to the shapes moving above them. A sudden burst of light filled the tower, and some boards from the tower room gave way, sending splintered planks of wood and debris tumbling towards them.

Edmund gasped, and ducked down and over, folding his arms across Peter's back and covering his brother's head with his own. The coppery smell of blood seeped into his senses, and he winced as flecks of wood slapped him on his already aching back.

Eventually, there was a still moment, and Edmund cautiously uncurled himself. He felt Peter's shoulder blade dig into his palm as his brother shifted again, moaning in pain, but he did not open his eyes. He leant down and patted his brother's cheek, calling frantically.

"Peter? Peter, can you hear me? We have to move…have to get out…please…Peter…"

Peter's brow furrowed, and then he flinched violently, reaching a hand half heartedly towards his head. The splintering moaning sounded again above them, and Edmund looked up, and, in the new light of the previous showering of debris, could see a huge crossbeam slipping jerkily out of its hold.

"Oh…great…"

Edmund muttered, shaking Peter's shoulder harder. If that beam fell…it was more than likely it would land right on top of them unless they moved to the edges of the room. Edmund hesitated, and hesitantly tried to lever Peter up, but his back immediately seared with agony and his arms trembled with exertion.

"Peter…I need you to help me…I can't…I'm not strong enough. Please…I need you…to help…"

He felt his lungs constrict, perhaps with desperation, perhaps with pure exhaustion. He felt a cold wash of despair as Peter remained perfectly still, blood still soaking into the cotton beside his head. The beam slipped a few metres lower with a creak and a dull thud.

"Peter…"

Crash. Creak.

Nothing. No movement.

"Peter, please!"

Smack, thud, creak. Smack, thud, creak. Silence.

_**It's going to fall.**_

"Peter!"

_**It's going to crush us.**_

"…please…"

Creak, creak, creak, groan.

Crack.

"SOMEBODY HELP US!"

As the beam plummeted with a soft whistle through the air, Edmund screamed out to the heavens, to anyone, anywhere, and in answer, he felt a sudden surge of pure energy. Whether from within himself, or from some answering force, he neither knew nor cared.

It all happened in a split second.

Gasping, he surged to his feet, and thrust a hand under each of his brother's arms. He lunged forwards, using the momentum of his own fall to throw Peter bodily out of the way of the path of the falling beam.

For a fraction of a moment, he simply lay still, shuddering with the agony of his back before clawing his way painstakingly forwards. He brought his left foot forwards, pushing off it, dragging his right behind him.

When the impact came, the pain was so excruciating that he had no breath in his lungs with which to scream. The beam slammed down with crushing force upon his exposed ankle, pressing the bone down into the flesh.

Silence.

Then he screamed.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sight was intoxicating, or so Peers thought. He stood, straight backed, drinking in the beautiful sight as the fire licked eagerly and scorched the building's insides. It looked almost like a burnt out corpse now, the remaining timbers forming misshapen ribs.

His eyes began to water, but he refused to blink, gazing up in dizzy awe as the fire engulfed the tower. He could almost sense their fear, the desperation, the smothering pressure of the fire, panic, pain. He smiled.

"…**KILLED **them!"

A far off screech of agony seeped through his swaying consciousness, and his brow furrowed as the dancing flames about him flickered. All of a sudden, a crushing force closed around his throat from behind, the lure of ash, smoke, blood, fear overwhelming his senses.

"MURDERER!"

He twisted desperately, letting loose a snarl of anger. How dare this creature disturb his vigil! His own blood pounded in his head, beating upon his mind, and he could feel something creaking, cracking, preparing to snap like a brittle twig.

And thus the dance began.

It was not heroic, nor filled with the courage and precision as told in tales of knights, castles, dragons. No. The struggle was feverish, animalistic, with limbs grating upon sharp ground and a strange, ringing silence. All seemed calm about them, yet locked in combat they seemed to lose sight of the world about them.

"You killed them, you **bastard**!"

He grinned at the unknown accuracy of such a statement, and brought a clawing fist up to gouge at the other's face, seeking to tear the very skin from cold enamel. A dark sky illuminated by flames seemed to light up the other's face, shadows writhing within his eyes.

"Mur…derer! Murder! You…"

A moment of stillness, heavy breathing, ash, smoke, flames, and fire. The acrid essence of death weighted the air around them, and it seemed suddenly impossible to draw breath. Sweeping the world around, he found not a field, but the smoking, burnt out shell of a building.

He grinned.

"Nursery rhymes."

Watery blue eyes blinked in confusion against a sky polluted with black liquid ink, scribing judgement against a lightening world. He didn't understand. Of course he didn't, how could anybody?

Splintered, peeling cot limp and rickety, swaying in a drunken stupor, and humming, humming, sweet sweet singing; rockabye baby. Headless baby dolls, glassy eyes rolling across the floor, spinning, spinning, swaying to the beat; rockabye, rockabye, rockabye baby.

A high keened wail sang out from around them, and the demon above him, the flame haired, snatched his head up and stared around. He smiled. The planes had left a present, not to be opened till last, of course. Mechanical screeching, the hiss of escaping air, a giant, metallic shell rocking and squealing.

"Ring a ring a roses…"

_Rockabye, rockabye…_

"A pocket full of poses…"

…_rockabye baby. When the wind blows…_

"Atishoo, atish-oo, we all fall-"

_Goodbye, baby._

"-down."

A tiny click, a vibration sent along a wire like filament inside the trembling shell of the bomb, and the world exploded; then went black.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Several minutes earlier…_

Peter felt like he was floating, and yet thoroughly grounded against cold stone. His head pounded, endless echoes swirling drunkenly around and around inside his skull. His back felt like it was burning, and yet his front was freezing. Hot wafts of searing air pulsated down from somewhere above him, and a hissing crackling sound fluctuated in and out of hearing like an old record.

Somebody was calling to him. Frantically. He groaned, the world tilting on an axis, feeling dizzy. What was it? What was so important? Oh God, but his head _ached_…

"Peter!"

He knew that voice, from somewhere. The world above, and around, seemed so very far away, so out of reach it might as well have been heaven. No, hell. It was too hot to be Heaven. It was so hot. Why?

Fire.

There was fire. Why? Why was there fire? Who was that voice? It was somebody important, somebody who meant a lot to him…someone who mattered…why did he matter? Who was he?

I promised Father.

Father? Who was Father? What was it? A warm presence, smiling blue eyes with crinkles laughter lines about them. Father. Daddy. Daddy mattered, and he had promised Father…that he would…

"Peter!"

There was a face, but no name, which drifted across his consciousness; with dark brown eyes and a freckled face. Like Mother. He frowned, shifting his hand, reaching outwards, trying to find solidity, but the tiny movement sapped his strength as his hand fell back down onto cold stone.

Creaking, and groaning. Something is rocking above, high above. Does that mean it will fall down? Where are we? Are we in Hell? It's so hot…

"…please…"

Peter didn't like the despairing tone, and the trembling hands which had been clenched around his shoulders suddenly shook harder. He could smell acidic vapour on the air, and soot, and choking smoke. Something was wrong. He needed to…to what? How? He couldn't move.

"SOMEBODY HELP US!"

Brittle arms wrapped around his chest, and he was suddenly flung off the floor, sailing through the air, and, as he slammed into a blessedly cool brick structure which halted his flight, his eyes snapped open.

Blackness, illuminated by fire. A figure. Crouched. No, crawling, towards him, head bowed. Dark hair. Freckled face. A crack, a blurred shape crashing down, down, before it impacted with a sickening jolt beside the figure.

Silence.

Silence.

The dark head was flung back, heavy breathing filling the air, and agonised brown eyes met his own, clouded with sheer pain. Peter stared, dumbfounded, head still spinning languidly, aching all over, as the blood rushed from his little brother's face.

A bloodcurdling scream drowned Peter's own strangled cry:

"EDMUND!"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Edmund? God…no…Ed, can you hear me?"

Shaking hands took him by the shoulders, and Edmund gritted his teeth, forcing himself to raise his head. He could see only blurry outlines, his vision blinded by pain, but he managed to force out:

"Of course…I can…hear…you…git…"

There was a relieved sigh, and Edmund could feel the heartbeat in the fingertips beside his neck racing. For a moment, the only sounds which filled the room were the far off sounds of the fire and their own breathing, Peter's shallow and rapid, Edmund's determinedly deep and shuddering.

"Whatever will I do with you, Ed? I take a nap for five minutes…"

Peter murmured faintly, eyes roving over the large beam of wood pinning Edmund to the floor, obviously trying to keep his brother distracted. Edmund hissed at the dull, but still excruciating pain in his ankle, and managed a weak chuckle punctuated with a cough:

"Hardly…a nap..."

He shuddered, spasms of weakened agony racking his form, and he whimpered as the pure toll of exhaustion and exertion sunk in.

"Hurts, Peter…"

He glanced up at his brother through a curtain of sweat-riddled hair, and saw a heartbroken look fill Peter's face, quickly overcome with rigid determination. Peter bit his lip, ducking his head away as he continued to look over the beam, hiding his face from view as he spoke hesitantly.

"I know. I'm sorry, I…this is all my fault…"

Anger flooded Edmund's dulled senses.

"Don't…"

Peter shook his head, bringing a finger to his lips as he frowned down at Edmund's trapped ankle. The creaking above had begun again, groaning ominously, and Peter glanced up nervously.

"There's no time. Just…don't speak. I'll get you out of this, then we can get out of here…it'll be fine. You hear? I promise."

Edmund looked from Peter, to the darkness punctuated with incineration above him. The tower would collapse under the pressure, soon. They had little less than a minute, maybe two, he calculated. The cold precision of King Edmund the Just outlawed his gathering maelstrom of emotions.

"…go. No use…"

Peter's head snapped around, as he gently shifted the beam a little, eliciting a hiss from his brother. Edmund could see the suppressed despair in his brother's eyes; Peter looked terrible, his face pale and his forehead caked in dried blood mixed with half dried sweat.

"Stupid. No. I won't, so just be quiet and save your energy."

Edmund blinked, opening his mouth to elicit another remark, when he recalled the abdominal state of his own body. Attention diverted once more to his ankle, he noted the individual shoot of pain coming from each fractured shard of bone digging into his very flesh.

He felt bile rise in his throat, black spots blotting out his vision, blood roaring in his ears.

"…come on…"

Peter's voice seemed so very far away, and he squinted, clinging to the sound of Peter's despairing tone as his last anchor to reality. He could feel himself falling, falling, his head slamming down towards the floor, the world turning black, even as Peter's voice faded into the endless darkness:

"…no, Ed, stay with me… please…"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

_It's no use. He's gone. Alone again, now._

Peter clenched his fists, knuckles turning bloodless white once more, and checked Edmund's pulse and breathing while simultaneously surveying the mess which was his brother's leg.

He swallowed dryly, positioning shaking limbs underneath the timber, adrenaline searing through his veins like wild fire.

_Come on…please…just…one more shift…_

He lifted upwards with all of his might, and for a moment, felt a lingering flicker of hope as the huge construction groaned, tilted, and rose. Mere seconds later, however, the full weight hit him and he slumped down, shaking with exertion, balancing it mere fractions of a centimetre above Edmund's limp form.

_It's slipping!_

He clenched his eyes tightly shut.

_No!_

This was pathetic! Ridiculous!

_I won't let this happen! Not again! I'm supposed to protect him, and he…he saved me…_

Peter readjusted his grip.

_One more heave._

Bend your knees, use momentum as your ally. That's it, swing back, lift up, then fall back, around again.

_Just one more._

_**I'll lend you the strength to carry on.**_

_Not this time. Not from Father's strength, not from Aslan, not from King Peter the Magnificent. My strength is my own._

The timber was slowly rising, giving, the tremble in his lips quelled as it was lifted clear of Edmund's ankle, and he groaned, staggering, before letting the timber slip sideways and roll heavily from his arms.

_Father's gone. Father's dead. I can no longer lean on him in the darkness. My strength is my own._

The ground had begun to quake…or was that simply the tremors in his own body? Either way, Peter reasoned, they had to get out of here. And fast.

He swallowed, and bent down, managing a tiny smile on chapped lips as he surveyed his brother's crumpled form. Silly Ed. As if he'd have left him behind…what kind of a brother would he have been then?

"I promised you both, remember? I promised."

Suddenly, a high pitched whistling filled the air. Peter frowned, and a soft mechanical ticking joined it, rising higher and higher in volume. His breath hitched, and his heart began to beat faster.

He knew that sound. Had heard it many times, back home, while running desperately down streets trying to get as far away as possible. The attack was not over. A timed, unexploded bomb had begun its final countdown.

Tick tock, tick, tock, tick, tock. Time's a ticking, ticking away.

Peter forced himself upwards, frantically gathering Edmund into his arms and hastily adjusting the limp form so the ankle was not at risk. Focus. Focus. You have to get out. Now. How? Where? Where's the door?

A glint of metal in the darkness. A doorknob.

Peter lunged forward, blundering, the world blurring at the edges. Things seemed to move so slowly, like a dream, limbs falling and impacting with terrible weight down onto solid ground. A door thrown open, falling to his knees. No. Get up, get moving, get away. Got to get away.

Tick. Tock. Tick, Tock. Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tock.

Silence.

Throwing himself down into the long grass of the hill, Peter flung himself over his brother's unresponsive body, bowing his head over Edmund's, and clenched trembling fists in the strands of grass slick with morning dew. A split second of quiet.

A tiny click, and the entire hill reverberated with the force of the explosion.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

**A/N: I know, the scene from Peers' POV was almost completely insane, but I wanted to give an impression of how he would see the world…well, not really, but how he thinks. The way his mind works. Apologies if it was a little weird! It was supposed to be!**

**Next chapter: Peter makes a difficult decision, Edmund is completely out of it, Lucy receives some bad news and Helen receives an impromptu wake up call.**

**Cifel: …I have no words.**

**Please review, and leave a smack for the bad, bad author! (cringes)**

Cedric: Kindly, loved


	29. In for a penny

**A/N: Again, I am so, so sorry! I had to re-watch the movie, and completely re-read both Ironic Synchronicity and Mistaken Perception (it's so freaking long!) so. Well, um…now we're nearing the close of the first half. I hope it's satisfactory. Second half takes place in Narnia, of course… **

**Disclaimer: Narnia belongs solely to CS Lewis, and I sincerely hope he will not mind me borrowing his characters for a slight variation (cough cough) on his story. **

**Warnings: Nothing really. As ever, a little blood spilt. **

**Rating: PG13 American, 12 English. **

**"Morning, Mother." Having left Lucy Pevensie with those final parting words all those months ago, I now return to this story with renewed vigour! As a wise reviewer once said, once an author of Narnia, always an author of Narnia. **

**Enjoy! **

Mistaken Perception

Part One: Late Arrivals

_**Chapter twenty eight: In for a penny **_

"Dear…God in Heaven…"

Evesham breathed hoarsely, shielding his eyes from the rapidly fading glare of the explosion. The ground was racked with tremors beneath him, the air thick with thick choking smoke and debris. The smell of ash and burning was intolerable.

Besides him, Havisham groaned, scrambling awkwardly up, black scholar robes askew. He looked to the distant shell of the building which had once been the school, and lowered his gaze.

"We were too late."

The statement hung in the air between them, an awkward silence now filling the stilling air. The distant sounds of the fire were dying down, and Evesham turned to look down at the town, at the dim lights of the community hall far, far below them. He frowned.

"Register's were taken, weren't they? To ensure the students were all present? The last thing we need is more casualties."

Havisham mopped his sweaty brow, his face pale as a ghost. The terrible reality of the situation had begun to sink him; the entire school was destroyed, gone. Two children were missing, almost definitely dead. There would be no bodies, and hundreds of boys now had no safe refuge from the war.

"Yes, I believe so… Henley had them. You'll have to ask him…"

Evesham swallowed any further thought of the Pevensie's. It was just possible, by some miracle, that they may have survived…there was hope. Yes. Havisham hesitated, and spoke again, in a strained, quiet voice.

"The children…the Pevensie's…is there…?"

He broke off, knowing the answer. Evesham swallowed, feeling suddenly cold. He wasn't entirely sure what to think. They were…well, children. Young. Too young to die.

Then again, how many boys their age had been sent off to war? How many young men already littered the fields of war? Too many to count, too many to remember. Beside him, Havisham removed his cap and bowed his head.

"Such is the way of war. If only…no, there is no use dwelling on the past. It is simply…not possible, that they survived. Evesham?"

Havisham looked to the Doctor with a sort of dead hope, but Evesham shook his head slowly. It was, indeed, not possible. The entirety of the school was scorched inside out. There was no escape from a force like that.

"SIR! Mr Havisham, Headmaster?"

Evesham gathered his wits, straightened his tie and stood carefully. He turned to face the source of the shout, and found a flushed and sweaty faced ARP Warden before them, who was just managing to catch his breath.

"I be terribly sorry, Sir. One of the lads, he were walkin' oer yonder to check the immediate surroundin' area of the explosion, Sir, and…"

The Warden trailed off, his eyes darkening, and he gestured helplessly over towards the burnt out shell of the school. Words seemed to fail him, and he opened his mouth, hesitated, and then closed it again.

Evesham grew impatient, disturbed by the expression on the man's face,

"For God's sake, spit it out, man!"

"Two corpses, Sir."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

_The residence of Professor D. Kirke, two days later… _

"Morning, Mother."

Lucy said quietly, slipping inside the darkly panelled door and closing it with a soft thud behind her. Not that she expected an answer, of course. Helen Pevensie had been sleeping deeply, almost comatose, for days now. Lucy was worried, but the Professor had said it was merely exhaustion.

Still, the uneasy feeling weighing on Lucy's heart refused to be shifted, and so she bore each passing day with a solemn acceptance. She hoped that, like all the troubles the world had brought her, this would pass, too.

Lucy moved across to the slightly open window, and tugged it shut, reaching on tiptoe to grasp the cool metal handle. Her shoes had grown uncomfortably tight recently; she must be growing. It was an unsettling thought.

Having drawn the lace curtains to cover the latticed windows, Lucy reached into the chest pocket of her cardigan and retrieved a thin, neatly folded sheet of paper. She hesitated, before moving quietly over to her Mother's bed, and standing awkwardly beside it. She cleared her throat uneasily.

"A letter came from Susan today, Mother. I thought…well, she says to read it to you, so…I guess I will."

Unfolding the letter, Lucy drew a nearby stool up to the bedside, and sat down slowly, eyes already roving over the words arranged in neat rows of italic writing. She frowned, lowering the letter to her lap, and began to read aloud;

"_Darling Lucy, I hope both you and Mother are well. Things are very quiet here; although the warnings of German attacks on boarding schools is still very much rampant within the walls, we haven't heard so much as the whirr of an engine for days now. I hope it is a sign that things will get better from here on in."_

Lucy paused for breath, a relieved smile curling her lips. She glanced up at her Mother's pale face, perfectly still in the deep recesses of sleep. Her own smile faltered, and she turned her gaze back to the letter.

"_Although it seems that elsewhere, things are not quite so serene. I've heard news that a school somewhere in the county was bombed only days ago. The papers refused to give the name of the school, but apparently almost the whole building was completely destroyed, and two pupils died, while another two were declared missing. It is a truly horrible business. Apparently, an official report will be issued by the government as soon as the immediate relatives of those involved are contacted. Those poor people; I can hardly bear to think what they're going through."_

Lucy felt a shudder run up and down her spine at the thought of it; at the thought of Peter and Edmund, supposed to be safe in the countryside, and yet still under imminent threat of attack. She thought of the families of the children who had lost their lives, and felt again that cold well of uneasiness fill the pit of her stomach.

"_In light of the recent attack, there are rumours flying about that all boarding schools are to be evacuated, too. I fear that soon, nowhere shall be safe from this beastly war. Anyway, if you should ever want company, I am sure I could arrange a weekend off in light of the current situation. Remember, Lucy, I am only a letter or a telegram away. Give my love to Mother and the boys, should you hear from them." _

Lucy faltered, her voice trailing away at the final words.

"_Your loving sister, Susan._"

Lucy swallowed, folding the letter absently in her hands, and licked her dry lips. She did not like this; she did not like this at all. She drew a deep breath and stood carefully, placing the letter on the bedside table as she moved towards the door, goose bumps rising up her bare arms. She rubbed them feverishly; her brow furrowed, and stood still in the corridor for a moment.

For some inexplicable reason, dread weighed upon her mind like a smothering shroud.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

_"I don't suppose you know where we are, by any chance?" _

_Helen asked quietly, fisting her hands anxiously in her skirts. They had been walking non-stop for what felt like hours and hours on end. Strangely, despite this, she did not feel at all weary. Only a little light-headed. _

_Cifel halted a few feet ahead of her, and turned slowly to face her. His expression was impassive, but somehow still managed to display his annoyance. _

_"**Where** is not the question you should be asking of me, Helen Pevensie. We are not, technically, 'anywhere'." _

_Helen considered this answer, more than a little confused. _

_"Oh." _

_Was all she could manage, as Cifel turned away once again. Helen lowered her gaze, shaking slightly in the cool breeze which tossed languidly about them. She swallowed, and glanced warily about her. She was surprised to find that the landscape had changed significantly. They were now standing upon a neatly paved road, with light grey, perfectly tessellated stones. It was very wide, almost ten feet across, and to both the left and right beyond the edges, there was only thick, dense spirals of mist. She shuddered, and hurried to catch up with the retreating figure of her guide. _

_"So…uh…" _

_She fell into step beside him, her eyes fixed determinedly down at her feet. Her head felt so…strange. She could not recall anything beyond her first meeting with this…Cifel…and whenever she tried, she felt as though something large and heavy was pressing against the depths of her mind, trying desperately to break through. It was painful. _

_"If I'm not supposed to ask where we are, then…I suppose I'm supposed to ask 'why am I here?'" _

_At first, Cifel appeared to not have heard her, his gaze fixed firmly upon something ahead of them. Helen opened her mouth to speak, then faltered, following his line of vision. A few feet ahead, a large, dark structure loomed high above them, out of the gloom. Falling into step behind Cifel in a subconscious effort to shelter herself, she could do nothing but stare, wide eyed, as the structure slowly wound itself into the shape of an arch, almost fifty feet high. _

_It was made of what appeared to be inky black granite, roughly hewn, with no carvings of decorations of any kind visible. Drawing closer, she saw that long chains ran from either side of the arch and down to the ground, but were seemingly not secured in any way. Beyond the arch, the pathway continued, but rather than a paved road it was a black stone platform, suspended within billows of fog. _

_"A bridge…" _

_She breathed, her voice a thin wisp of sound in the thick air which surrounded them. Cifel glanced down at her, but said nothing. After a moment, dark figures began to emerge from the fog halfway across the bridge; pale figures, semi-translucent, indistinctly shaped. They moved slowly, heads bowed, and each carried a tiny ball of light in an upturned palm. _

_Helen drew in a sharp breath and ducked behind Cifel, who placed a firm hand over her own, which was clutching the back of his cloak. _

_"Do not worry. They will not harm you." _

_She swallowed, not entirely believing him. They stood quite still for a long while, as the figures passed them by, walking in dumb procession one behind another. Their features were indistinct, their outlines blurred, and as they reached the end of the bridge the small balls of lights they held began to flicker. _

_"Helen?" _

_Cifel said quietly, and Helen blinked, still watching as the path around them filled with the figures, two stately lines, one going back the way the two travellers had came, and one moving towards the other end of the bridge. _

_"What is this place?" _

_She asked hoarsely, her voice echoing around the surrounding emptiness. She winced. _

_"It is called the Bridge of Lost Souls. Original, hm? We are currently crossing over what you may know as the River Styx." _

_Silence. _

_"Helen." _

_She looked at him, feeling strangely dizzy, her head aching more than ever before. Her heart banged against her ribs, each pulse sending the blood pounding through her bruised mind. _

_"Are you afraid?" _

_Helen hesitated. _

_"Yes." _

_Cifel nodded, slowly, expression pensive. _

_"Why?" _

_He asked, simply, although she had a feeling the question was more for her benefit than his. She searched her feelings, trying desperately to think, to remember, something, anything…but she was once again met with nothing but blankness, and that aching presence of something pushing against her mind. _

_"Because I don't…I don't know, remember, anything…I…whenever I try, I…" _

_She trailed off, kneading and twisting her hands in her sleeves, clutching them with whitened knuckles. It was cold here. But not a bitter cold, an empty cold. A lifeless cold. _

_"Do you remember what it was to feel pain, Daughter of Eve?" _

_Helen faltered; her heart skipped a beat. _

_"…yes." _

_A moments pause. _

_"If you could…would you leave all that behind? All the pain, all the suffering, all that you can't recall?" _

_Helen thought for a moment, clasping her hands together to quell the shaking. Then she began to speak, more clearly than before. _

_"I…would like to, but…as well as all the pain…" _

_The smallest of smiles curled her pale lips, her eyes shining with a foreign, forgotten emotion. _

_"I also remember what it was to love, and…" _

_The smile fell into a grimace of determination. _

_"…and I want to feel that again, no matter how much pain it may cause me." _

_Cifel gave her a guarded look, before he nodded once again, mulling her words over. _

_"I understand." _

_He sighed, turning to gaze out at the bleak emptiness which surrounded them, beyond the edges of the bridge. _

_"I, too, was once as lost as you were. Only able to cling to the shadows of emotion which remained imprinted upon an empty hollow which once held my heart. I, too, was afraid. I didn't know if I could face the uncertainty of the journey back." _

_Helen came and stood beside him, staring up into a strangers face; a stranger, and yet the only friend she knew. _

_"Was it worth it?" _

_His lips twitched in the ghost of a smile. _

_"Every moment." _

_She straightened up, fists clenched, feeling a burning sensation fill her chest, but it wasn't uncomfortable. For the first time since she had began this journey, she felt a sense of being, of purpose. She felt alive. _

_"Well, then. Stop asking silly questions, and let's get out of here." _

_She said loudly, defiantly, turning to fix a determined gaze upon the far end of the bridge, indistinct in the distance. Cifel blinked, surprised at her sudden transition, and said in a serious tone: _

_"It will be hard. Perhaps too hard." _

_She shrugged, giving him a small smile. _

_"We won't know until we try, now, will we?" _

_He nodded, and raised his arm, turning his palm upwards. Immediately, a small flicker of light sputtered into being, lighting the area immediately about them. Turning, he held out the other arm to Helen. _

_"Then take my hand, and cross over with me." _

_Resolutely, she placed her hand in his gauntleted one, drawing comfort from the solidity of leather and skin against her fingers. _

_"I'm ready when you are." _

_Cifel regarded her briefly with an odd expression, before smiling exasperatedly, turning back around and tugging her forwards to begin the long, slow march across the bridge. _

_"Humans…really are…remarkable creatures." _

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

**A/N: Oops! Didn't mean for the Helen Cifel section to be so long…the fact that the whole situation with Helen seems a bit illusive is supposed to reflect how Helen herself feels. You're seeing through her eyes, so to speak…if it was from Cifel's POV I'd have to explain an AWFUL lot in a very short space of time…darned know it all angel…(grumbles) **

**Now, I know, there was no Peter or Ed POV; and the question is…who's dead? Two corpses, four people missing. Well? Please leave a review and tell me your predictions! **

**A small note: A bit of history for you! The River Styx is a well known part of Greek Mythology; it is a river (which is supposedly made up of the matter of lost souls) which separates Hades (the Grecian 'Land of the Dead') from the living world. **

**Next chapter: To be or not to be, that is the question! Or rather, who is to be and who is not to be…(smiles mysteriously) **

**Cifel: …you are insane, you know that? (shrugs) Feel free to lynch her, if you so wish. (steps aside) **

**Well, um…yes, uh, well…(clears throat and begins to edge away as reviewer mob brandish pitchforks) I'll be off, then! (runs for insignificant life) **

**(Far off voice in distance) PLEASE REVIEW REGARDLESS! …many thanks. **


End file.
